'  <  i"  r 

fl  Hill  II 


MEN  I  HAVE  KNOWN 


BY 

THE  VERY  REV.  FREDERICK  W.  FARRAR,  D.D. 

DEAN  OF  CANTERBURY 


NEW  YORK:    46  EAST  UTH  STREET 

THOMAS  Y.  CROWELL  &  COMPANY 

BOSTON  :    100  PURCHASE  STREET 


COPYRIGHT,   1897, 
BY  THOMAS  Y.  CKOWELL  &  COMPANY. 


C.   J.    PETERS  &    SON,    TYPOGRAPHERS, 
BOSTON. 


THE  LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
SANTA  BARBARA 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.   LORD  TENNYSON i 

II.    ROBERT  BROWNING 42 

III.  MATTHEW  ARNOLD 73 

IV.  PROFESSOR  MAURICE  AND  DEAN  STANLEY  .     .  93 
V.   A  GROUP  OF  SCIENTISTS  — 

Doctor  Whewell 126 

Professor  J.  Clerk  Maxwell 136 

Charles  Darwin 140 

Professor  Tyndall 149 

Professor  Huxley 151 

VI.   A  GROUP  OF  EMINENT  AMERICANS  — 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson 154 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow 155 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes 156 

James  Russell  Lowell 160 

John  Greenleaf  Whittier 162 

George  W.  Childs 167 

Cyrus  W.  Field 170 

Phillips   Brooks 173 

VII.   A  GROUP  OF  BISHOPS  AND  CARDINALS  — 

Archbishop  Tail 179 

Doctor  Thomson,  Archbishop  of  York  .     .      .  183 

Archbishop  Magee 185 

Archbishop  Trench 185 

Archbishop  Benson 185 

Cardinal  Newman 192 


iv  CONTENTS. 


Cardinal  Manning      .     .  192 

Ur.  1'usey 195 

Canon  Liddon 197 

Dean  Church 199 

VIII.     A  GUOUP  OF  BISHOPS  AND  DEANS  — 

Dean  Welleslev 200 

Dean  Close 202 

Dean  Johnson 202 

Dean  Herbert 202 

Dean  Howson 203 

Dr.  Blakesley 204 

Professor  Blunt 205 

Professor  Mill 206 

Dean  Plumptre 207 

Dr.  Short 209 

Bishop  Cotton 213 

Bishop  Colenso 220 

Bishop  of  Durham 227 

Bishop  Moberly 230 

Bishop  Wordsworth 233 

IX.     THE  EARL  OF  BEACONSFIELD 237 

LORD  LYTTON 245 

THE  EARL  OF  LYTTON 257 

X.     REMINISCENCES  OF  — 

Charles  Dickens 263 

W.  M.  Thackeray 266 

George  Cruikshank 267 

Anthony  Trollope 267 

George  Du  Maurier 267 

Lord  Macaulay 268 

Thomas  Carlyle 272 

Charles  Kingsley .     .  278 

Judge  Hughes 281 

Dr.  Jowett 283 

Dr.  Thompson 287 


MEN  1  HAVE  KNOWN. 


I. 

LORD  TENNYSON. 

I  HAVE  been  requested  to  write  some 
chapters  on  men  of  eminence  whom  I  have 
known;  but  before  I  begin  to  do  so  I  wish 
to  make  one  or  two  preliminary  remarks, 
in  order  to  obviate  any  misconception. 

One  is,  that  the  desire  to  catch  were 
it  but  a  glimpse  of  those  who  have  deeply 
influenced  their  generation  is  in  no  sense 
petty  or  ignoble.  Without  being  an  abject 
hero-worshipper,  every  man  or  woman  of 
cultivated  intelligence  takes  an  interest  in 
even  seeing  men  of  unquestioned  greatness, 
the  chief  figures  in  the  age  in  which  they 
have  lived.  The  famous  and  the  supremely 
gifted  are,  after  all,  very  few  in  number. 

1 


2  MEN  I  HAVE  KNOWN. 

There  are  among  us  many  inch-high  distinc- 
tions and  petty  altitudes.  Doubtless,  to  the 
eyes  of  beings  loftier  than  human,  our  whole 
race,  apart  from  its  spiritual  destinies,  may 
wear  the  aspect  of  a  low  and  level  plain. 
They  may  think  that  to  us  who  move  upon 
its  surface  "  every  molehill  is  a  mountain, 
and  every  thistle  a  forest  tree." 

To  us,  however,  it  is  given  to  measure 
men  only  in  relation  to  their  fellow-men ; 
and  we  see  at  once  how  very  small  is  the 
number  of  those  who  rise  even  to  fugitive 
eminence,  much  less  to  permanent  suprem- 
acy, among  their  kind. 

Further  than  this,  our  passing  estimates 
are  often  rectified  as  years  go  on,  and  men 
who  filled  a  large  space  in  the  eyes  of  their 
contemporaries  are  often  much  dwarfed  in 
the  estimate  of  later  generations.  This  is 
perhaps  specially  the  case  with  statesmen, 
and  others  whose  greatness  is  often  mainly 
of  an  official  character,  dependent  on  status 
more  than  on  genius.  There  are  inns  in 
England  now  called  "  The  George  and  Can- 
non," which  were  originally  named  in  honor 


LORD   TENNYSON.  3 

of  the  brilliant  George  Canning-  when  he 
was  Prime  Minister;  but  before  a  genera- 
tion was  over,  George  Canning  was  so 
comparatively  forgotten  by  the  common  mul- 
titude that  the  name  "The  George  Can- 
ning "  had  to  them  become  meaningless, 
and  had  to  be  changed  into  something  of 
more  popular  significance.  Voltaire 

Lived  long,  wrote  much,  laughed  heartily,  and  died  ; 

and  the  poet  supposes  that  he  will  be 
Praised  perhaps  for  ages  yet  to  come. 

How  immensely  did  he  loom  upon  the 
imagination  of  his  own  ofeneration  !  how 

C>  <!> 

comparatively  small  is  the  space  which  he 
occupies  in  ours! 

Still,  we  can  only  take  the  estimates  which 
seem  in  our  own  days  truest  to  ourselves  ; 
and  when  we  regard  a  man  as  very  great 
we  are  all  triad  to  come  into  contact  with 

c> 

him,  however  casually.  If  we  have  been 
unable  to  see  him  with  our  eyes,  it  is  a 
plesure  to  us  to  do  so  through  the  eyes 
of  others. 


4  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

Dr.  Wright  accidentally  describes  how  he 
went  to  see  Milton  in  his  old  age,  poverty, 
neglect,  and  blindness.  It  may  seem  a 
trilling  matter;  but  would  we  willingly  give 
up  the  glimpses  we  thus  gain  of  the  poet 

who  rode  sublime 
Upon  the  seraph-wings  of  ecstasy, 

as  he  sat  "  in  his  small  house  up  one  pair 
of  stairs,  in  an  armchair,  in  his  room  hung 
with  rusty  green,  in  black  clothes,  pale  but 
not  cadaverous,  and  his  hands  gouty  with 
chalk-stones  "  ?  or  as  the  painter  Richardson 
saw  him  in  1671,  "sitting  in  a  gray  coarse 
cloth  at  the  door  of  his  house,  in  warm 
sunny  weather,  to  enjoy  the  fresh  air ; "  or 
"in  a  green  camblet  coat,  and  no  longer 
wearing  his  small  silver-hilted  sword,  but 
led  by  the  hand  by  the  bookseller  Milling- 
ton  "  ?  When  we  think  of  the  great  Kant, 
do  we  utterly  despise  the  glimpses  of  him 
in  his  daily  walk  and  his  simple  meals,  pre- 
served for  us  by  his  faithful  servant  ?  And 
however  much  we  may  laugh  at  Boswell, 
who  does  not  rejoice  to  have  gained  even 


LORD  TENNYSON.  5 

from  his   flunkeyism    so    vivid    a   picture    of 
Dr.  Johnson  ? 

In  order  to  get  rid,  in  limine,  of  the 
notion  that  there  is  anything  necessarily  vul- 
gar or  trivial  in  such  a  refined  and  modified 
Boswellism  as  may  seem  to  be  involved  in 
slight  Reminiscences,  let  me  give  one  or  two 
instances.  When  we  read  the  intense  lyric 
of  Beranger,  Lcs  Souvenirs  du  Peuple,  in 
which  the  old  grandmother  describes  how 

o 

one  night  she  saw  the  great  Napoleon — 

//  ava.it  petit  chapeau, 
Avec  redingote  grise, 

who  does  not  echo  the  passionate  interpella- 
tion of  her  young  audience  — 

//  rons  a  partt,  grand'mere, 
11  vans  a  parle  ! 

and  — 

Le  pcuple  encore  le  revere, 

Out,   le  revere; 

Parlez-nous  de  hit,  grand' mire, 
Parlcz-nous  de  lui  ! 

We  may  recall,  too,  how  deep  was  the 
interest  with  which  Robert  Browning  looked 
on  a  man  who  had  talked  with  Shelley. 


MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO IV N. 

Ah,  did  you  once  see  Shelley  plain, 
And  did  he  stop  and  speak  to  you, 

And  did  you  speak  to  him  again  ? 
How  strange  it  seems  and  new ! 


I  crossed  a  moor  with  a  name  of  its  own, 
And  a  certain  use  in  the  world,  no  doubt, 

Yet  a  handsbreadth  of  it  shines  alone 
'Mid  the  blank  miles  round  about. 

For  there  I  picked  up  on  the  heather, 
And  there  I  put  inside  my  breast, 

A  moulted  feather,  an  eagle's  feather ! 
Well,  I  forget  the  rest. 

Mr.  Browning  himself  once  told  me  how 
important  and  interesting  he  thought  it  that 
the  young  should  have  as  it  were  landmarks 
in  their  lives,  by  at  least  seeing  great  men 
who  belonged  to  an  earlier  generation. 
"  Once,"  he  said,  "  I  was  walking  in  the 
streets  of  Paris,  with  my  son,  who  was  then  a 
little  boy.  We  saw  an  old  man  approaching 
us  in  a  long,  loose,  rather  shabby  coat,  and 
with  a  stooping,  shuffling  attitude  and  gait. 
'Touch  that  man  as  you  pass  him,'  I  whis- 
pered to  my  little  son  ;  'I  will  tell  you  why 
afterwards.'  The  child  touched  him  as  he 


LORD   TENNYSON.  7 

passed  ;  and  I  said  to  him,  '  Now,  my  boy, 
you  will  always  be  able  to  remember  in  later 
years  that  you  once  saw  and  touched  the 
great  Beranger." 

Next  I  should  like  to  say  on  the  thresh- 
old, that  no  one  would  more  absolutely  dis- 
dain than  myself  the  ignoble  chatter  of  mere 
petty  gossip,  and,  above  all,  of  anything  re- 
sembling that  small  malign  detraction  which 
seems  to  have  a  strong  attraction  for  mean 

o 

minds.  I  shall  speak  in  this  paper  of  Lord 
Tennyson  —  and  he  was  intensely  and  rightly 
sensitive  on  this  subject.  He  expressed 
again  and  again  his  disdainful  shrinking 
from  the  vulgar  touch  of  impudent  intrusion. 
We  remember  his  lines  on  receiving  a  cer- 
tain volume  of  Life  and  Letters,  to  which 
he  prefixed  the  motto,  "Cursed  be  he  that 
moves  my  bones." 

Proclaim  the  faults  he  would   not  show  ; 

Break  lock  and  seal  ;  betray  the   trust ; 

Keep  nothing  sacred  :  'tis  but  just 
The  many-headed  beast  should  know. 

Still    more    passionate    was    the   sense    of 


8  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

loathing  which  he  expressed  against  these 
"peering  littlenesses"  in  his  poem  on  The 
Dead  Prophet  — 

She  tumbled  his  helpless  corpse  about. 

"  Small  blemish  upon  the  skin  ! 
But  I  think  we  know  what  is  fair  without 

Is  often  as  foul  within." 

She  gabbled  as  she  groped  in  the  dead, 
And  all  the  people  were  pleased  ; 

"  See  what  a  little  heart,"  she  said, 
'•'  And  the  liver  is  half-diseased  !  " 

If  there  was  one  thing  which  Tennyson 
disliked  more  than  another,  it  was  the  speak- 
ing of  matters  which  belonged  only  to  his 
privacy.  He  regarded  it  as  a  violation  of 
confidence  to  make  public  use  of  opinions 
which  he  had  only  expressed  in  the  care- 
less ease  of  private  conversation.  A  writer 
of  some  distinction  had  on  one  occasion 
transgressed  (as  Lord  Tennyson  considered) 
the  bounds  of  discretion.  He  had  written 
an  account  of  a  day  which  he  spent  at  the 
poet's  house,  and  in  this  paper  had  quoted 
remarks  which  were  in  no  way  intended  for 
the  world.  "  It  is  the  last  day,"  said  Lord 


LORD  TENNYSON.  9 

Tennyson,    "  that    he    shall    ever    have    the 
opportunity  of  spending  at  my  house." 

No  such  violation  of  confidence  will  ap- 
pear in  anything  which  I  shall  write  about 
any  of  those  famous  contemporaries  who 
have  now  "  gone  to  the  more  in  number." 
I  shall  utter  no  syllable  respecting  them  to 
which,  ii  they  could  come  to  us  once  more, 
they  would  in  the  smallest  degree  object, 
any  more  than  they  would  to  the  exhibi- 
tion of  their  photographs. 

It  will,  I  think,  be  admitted  that  the  lite- 
rary lustre  of  the  generation  which  may  be 
regarded  as  just  past  was  far  more  brilliant 
than  that  of  the  immediate  present.  The 
years  in  which  Byron,  Shelley,  Keats,  Sir  Wal- 
ter Scott,  Coleridge,  \Vordsworth,  Southey, 
Charles  Lamb,  Mrs.  Hemans,  Leigh  Hunt, 
Tom  Hood,  and  Tom  Moore  were  writing  - 
the  years  which  witnessed  the  rising  fame 
of  Tennyson,  Browning,  Matthew  Arnold, 
George  Eliot,  Maurice,  Kingsley,  Bishop 
Lightfoot,  Dean  Stanley,  F.  W.  Robertson, 
Dickens,  Thackeray,  Lord  Macaulay,  Thomas 
Carlyle,  Lord  Houghton,  Clough,  Sir  Arthur 


10  MEN  1  HAVE  KNOWN. 

Helps,  Mr.  Ruskin,  Froude,  Cardinal  New- 
man, Darwin,  Huxley,  Tyndall,  and,  among 
our  brethren  across  the  water,  of  Ban- 
croft, Parkman,  Longfellow,  Emerson,  Lowell, 
\Yhittier,  and  O.  VV.  Holmes  —  were  very 
much  richer  in  literary  genius  than  the 
present  day  can  pretend  to  be.  We  have 
not  a  scientific  man  who  can  be  compared 
with  Darwin  ;  not  a  novelist  who  distantly 
approaches  George  Eliot  ;  not  an  historian 
gifted  with  the  eloquence  and  vividness  of 
Macaulay  ;  not  a  poet  who  can  be  put  on 
anything  like  the  same  level  with  Tenny- 
son or  Browning.  I  count  it  among  the 
most  conspicuous  blessings  of  my  life  that 
my  lot  has  been  cast  in  an  age  so  rich  in 
literary  power  ;  and  I  value  it  among  many 
choice  privileges  which  have  been  accorded 
me,  that  among  these  men  of  genius  there 
were  not  a  few  whom  I  have  met,  with 
whom  I  have  conversed,  whom  I  have  per- 
sonally known,  and  with  whom  I  have  more 
or  less  corresponded.  From  nearly  all  of 
them  I  have  received  expressions,  always  of 
kindliness,  sometimes  of  something  more. 


LORD  TENNYSON. 


LORD  TENNYSON.  11 

It  was  when  I  was  a  youth  at  Trinity 
College,  Cambridge,  that  Tennyson's  poems 
first  began  to  master  the  attacks  of  critics, 
and  securely  to  hold  the  admiration  of  the 
world.  After  the  Poems  by  Two  Brothers, 
a  volume  which  is  now  so  scarce  as  to  be 
highly  valued  by  bibliographers,  his  first  col- 
lection of  independent  poems  had  contained 
some  verses  which  the  world  will  not  will- 
ingly let  die ;  and  many  enriched  with  that 
consummate  gift  of  insight,  melody,  and 
poetic  expression  which  at  last  placed  him 
in  a  position  never  to  be  disturbed.  W. 
S.  Landor  has  said  that  a  poet  rises  first 
slowly  and  waveringly,  then  surely  and 
steadily,  till  at  last  he  is  as  a  bird  soaring 
into  the  sunlight,  which  he  reflects  from 
every  wavering  plume. 

We  sometimes  assume  that  men  whose 
geatness  is  now  universally  acknowledged 
did  not  have  to  suffer  as  the  vast  majority  of 
authors  have  had  to  suffer  —  and  many  of 
them  all  their  lives  long  --from  the  igno- 
rant contempt  and  detraction  of  critics. 
Any  one  who  has  the  least  knowledge  of 


12  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

literary  history  knows  that  those  who  have 
been  exempt  from  insolent  disparagement 
have  been  few  in  number.  Homer  had  his 
Zoilus,  and  Virgil  his  Bavius  and  Maevius. 
It  is  quite  curious  to  turn  over  the  long-for- 
gotten and  dusty  volumes  of  reviews  which 
once  lorded  it  with  arrogant  insolence  over 
the  literary  world,  and  to  see  how  critics, 
now  utterly  insignificant  and  always  shal- 
low, expended  their  ignorant  incapacity  and 
scorn  upon  men  at  whose  feet  the  world 
has  long  sat  to  learn.  The  writers  of  such 
critiques,  with  a  hectoring  affectation  of  om- 
niscience, lookincr  down  on  men  transcend- 

o 

ently  their  betters  from  the  whole  altitude 
of  their  own  inferiority.  A  flea  may  bite  an 
emperor ;  a  fly  may  buzz  with  self-satisfied 
impudence  round  the  forehead  of  a  high 
priest.  They  are  despicable,  but  they  annoy. 
Few  authors  have  had  that  serene  confidence 
in  their  own  heaven-bestowed  gifts  which 
enabled  Wordsworth  to  regard  his  abusive 
critics  with  the  calmest  indifference ;  or 
which  made  the  fallen  Guizot  say,  when 
hosts  of  his  opponents  thronged  to  the 


LORD  TENNYSON.  13 

steps  of  the  tribune  in  order  to  denounce 
him,  "  Montez,  Messieurs,  montez  toujours ; 
vous  ne  monterez  jamais  a  la  hauteur  de 
mon  dedain  !  " 

Tennyson  was  no  exception  to  the  rule 
that  poets,  more  often  than  not,  have  to 
fight  their  way  to  recognition.  Once,  when 
he  was  in  the  zenith  of  his  fame,  I  was  his 
guest  at  his  delightful  Freshwater  home, 
and  said  that  I  imagined  there  were  few 
poets  who  had  secured  an  earlier  or  more 
enthusiastic  recognition  than  he  had  done. 
He  told  me  that  I  was  quite  mistaken  ;  that 
in  his  younger  days  he  had  even  received 
anonymous  letters  about  his  poems  with 
insulting  addresses.  Nevertheless,  I  think 
that  his  sensitiveness,  and  perhaps  a  con- 
sciousness of  pre-eminent  gifts  —  analogous 
to  that  which  Milton  (for  instance)  pos- 
sessed, and  so  nobly  expresses  —  made  him 
unconsciously  exaggerate  the  number  of 
those  who  did  not  at  once,  or  fully,  accept 
his  claims.  But,  like  Byron,  he  could  turn 
on  his  critic  with  a  passion  and  a  power 
which  made  him  a  dangerous  foe  to  attack. 


1 1  MEN  f  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

When  Christopher  North,  amid  some  eulo- 
gies, had  mingled  a  little  depreciation,  Mr. 
Tennyson  wrote  the  stinging  lines  on 
"Musty,  fusty  Christopher,"1  which,  slight 
as  they  are,  will  be  remembered  long  after 
Wilson's  criticisms  are  forgotten.  Again, 
when  a  famous  writer,  in  a  volume  of  poems 
now  little  read,  had  written  with  reference 
to  Tennyson's  pension, — 

Though  Peel  with  pudding  plump  the  puling  Muse, 

Tennyson's  answer,  signed  "  Alcibiades,"  ap- 
peared in  Punch.  It  was  pointed  out  to 
me,  I  remember,  by  the  late  Professor  Fen- 
ton  J.  A.  Hort  when  I  was  at  college,  and 
Tennyson  never  reprinted  it,  though  a  few 
verses  of  it  —  very  much  softened,  and  omit- 
ting all  the  almost  sanguinary  satire  —  are 

1  You  did  late  review  my  lays, 

Crusty  Christopher; 
You  did  mingle  blame  and  praise, 

Rusty  Christopher. 
When  I  learnt  from  whom  it  came, 
I  forgave  you  all  the  blame, 

Musty  Christopher; 
I  could  not  forgive  the  praise, 

Fusty  Christopher. 


LORD  TENNYSON.  15 

to  be  found  in  one  of  his  later  volumes. 
The  vengeance,  as  he  himself  admitted,  was 
too  severe  for  a  line  which  was  nothing 
more  than  hasty  and  ill-considered.  I  will 
not  quote  the  verses,  though  they  are  very 
little  known  and  are  tremendously  powerful ; 
but  it  is  pleasant  to  record  that,  the  very 
next  week,  the  poet  regretted  the  severity 
into  which  he  had  been  hurried  by  his  dis- 
pleasure, and  wrote  a  noble  Pali  nodi  a.  This 
poem  also  appeared  in  Punch >  under  the 
name  of  "  Alcibiades."  It  began, — 

Ah  God  !  the  petty  fools  of  rhyme, 
Who  shriek  and  sweat  in  pigmy  wars 

Before  the  stony  face  of  Time, 

And  looked  at  by  the  silent  stars  : 

Who  hate  each  other  for  a  song, 
And  do  their  little  best  to  bite 

And  pinch  their  brethren  in  the  throng, 
And  scratch  the  very  dead  for  spite  : 

When  one  small  touch  of  Charity 

Would  raise  them  nearer  god-like  state 

Than  if  the  crowded  Orb  could  cry 
Like  those  who  cried  Diana  great : 

And   I  too  talk,  and  lose  the  touch 
I  talk  of.     Surely,  after  all, 


16  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO IV N. 

The  noblest  answer  unto  such 

Is  perfect  stillness  when  they  brawl. 

I  knew  the  eminent  and  kind-hearted 
author  of  the  offending-  line,  and  I  knew 
Tennyson  ;  and  it  is  pleasant  to  add  that 
in  later  years,  both  privately  and  publicly, 
they  spoke  of  each  other  with  mutual  kind- 
ness, and  respect,  and  that  the  son  of  the 
aggressor  became  a  warm  friend  of  the  poet, 
and  received  from  him  the  honor  of  a  dedi- 
cation. In  mellower  years  Lord  Tennyson's 
attitude  towards  criticism  is  expressed  in 
the  lines  on  A  Spiteful  Letter,  — 

Here,  it  is  here,  the  close  of  the  year, 

And  with  it  a  spiteful  letter. 
My  name  in  song  has  done  him  much  wrong, 

For  himself  hath  done  much  better. 

Rhymes  and  rhymes  in  the  range  of  the  times ! 

Are  mine  for  the  moment  stronger  ? 
Yet  hate  me  not,  but  abide  your  lot, 

I  last  but  a  moment  longer. 

Greater  than   I  —  is  that  your  cry  ? 

And  men  will  live  to  see  it. 
Well  —  if  it  be  so — so  it  is,  you  know; 

And  if  it  be  so,  so  be  it ! 

Nor  was  it  only  the  poet  who  knew  how 


LORD  TENNYSON.  17 

to  defend  himself.  I  well  remember  the 
criticism  in  the  Times  —  I  know  not  who 
wrote  it  —  on  the  In  Memoriam.  It  was 
in  the  usual  style  of  criticisms  written  de 
haul  en  bas  —  in  which  the  inferior  partly 
snubs  and  partly  condescends  graciously  to 
patronize  his  betters  ;  but  it  ended  with  an 
utterly  despicable  passage,  in  which  the 
writer,  incapable  of  understanding  the  spirit 
of  a  noble  friendship,  talked  sneeringly  of 
Arthur  Hallam  as  the  "  Amaryllis  of  the 
Chancery  Bar."  I  do  not  think  that  Lord 
Tennyson  ever  deigned  to  notice  this  stupid 
and  malignant  vulgarism.  It  was  amply  pun- 
ished in  an  admirable  address  to  the  work- 
ingmen  of  Brighton  by  F.  W.  Robertson. 

It  was  while  I  was  at  Cambridge  that  TJie 
Princess  came  out.  A  copy  was  given  me  ; 
and  I  so  greatly  delighted  in  it,  that  with- 
out having  dreamed  of  consciously  learning 
it,  I  could,  without  an  effort,  have  repeated 
by  far  the  greater  part  of  it  by  heart.  Once, 
when  I  was  staying  at  the  poet's  beautiful 
home  at  Aldworth,  I  was  leaning  with  him 
at  evening  on  a  low  wall  covered  with  roses 


1 S  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

and  other  flowers,  which  commanded  a 
lovely  view,  first  over  the  lower  levels  of 
the  garden,  then  over  a  wide  plain  towards 
and  beyond  Leith  Hill.  I  said  that  if  I  had 
not  known  that  The  Princess  was  written 
before  he  had  built  Aid  worth,  I  should  have 
thought  that  he  had  described  the  scene  be- 
fore us  in  lines  which  I  quoted,  - 

And  leaning  there  on  those  balusters,  high 
Above  the  empurpled  champaign,  drank  the  gale 
That,  blown   about  tin-  foliage  underneath, 
And  sated  with   the  innumerable  rose, 
Beat  balm  upon  our  eyelids. 

He  was  pleased  to  hear  me  quote  the 
lines ;  and  I  then  told  him  how  much  I 
owed  to  many  passages  of  77ic  Princess, 
and  among  them  to  the  lines  on  a  happy 

wedded  union, — 

My  bride, 

My  wife,  my  life.     O,  we  will  walk  this  world, 
Yoked  in  all  exercise  of  noble  end. 
And  so  thro'  those  dark  gates  across  the  wild 
That  no  man  knows. 

He  made  a  remark  which  is  interesting. 
He  said,  "Yes,  I  put  some  of  my  best 
poetic  work  into  The  Princess;  and  I 


LORD  TENNYSON.  19 

have  often  regretted  that  I  did  not  connect 

O 

it    with    some    stronger    and    more    serious 
framework  than  what  I   called  A   Medley'' 
I    was    fortunate    enough    to    obtain    the 

<!> 

Chancellor's  o^old  medal  at  Cambridge  for  a 

c>  o> 

poem  —  a  very  poor  one,  I  fear  —  on  TJie 
Arctic  Regions.  It  was  in  blank  verse,  and 
my  competing;  for  the  medal  was  almost 
exclusively  clue  to  the  accident  that  I  had 
once  been  detained  for  more  than  two 
hours  at  a  small  railroad  station  in  the 
country.  The  prize  had  not  once  been 
given  for  a  poem  in  blank  verse  since  the 
single  occasion  on  which  it  had  been  won 
by  Tennyson  in  1829  for  a  poem  on  Tim- 
buctoo.  There  is  a  legend  at  Cambridge  that 
one  of  the  then  examiners  —  the  History 
Professor,  Professor  Smyth  —  had  written  on 
the  outer  leaf  of  this  poem  v.q.,  which  he 
meant  for  "very  queer;"  but  the  other  exam- 
iners took  it  for  v.g.,  "  very  good,"  and  as- 
signed the  medal  to  it.  The  legend  is,  I 
should  think,  an  entire  myth  ;  and  unques- 
tionably Tennyson's  prize  poem  contains 
some  far  finer  passages  than  any  other 


20  JlfEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

poem  which  has  been  so  rewarded  either 
at  Cambridge  or  Oxford,  though  among 
the  successful  competitors  have  been  such 
names  as  those  of  Heber,  Macaulay,  and 
Mackworth  Praed.  As  so  many  years  had 
elapsed  since  he  had  broken  a  fixed  tradi- 
tion by  a  blank-verse  poem,  and  since  I 
had  followed  his  example,  I  took  the  lib- 
erty, which  I  knew  his  kindness  would 
forgive,  of  sending  him  my  verses,  and 
mentioning  the  circumstance.  In  those 
days  the  poet  wrote  his  own  letters,  which 
he  rarely  did  in  later  years,  and  I  received 
the  following  reply  :  — 

DEAR  SIR,  —  I  have  just  received  your  prize  poem, 
for  which  \  return  you  my  best  thanks.  I  believe  it  is 
true  that  mine  was  the  first  written  in  blank  verse  which 
obtained  the  Chancellor's  medal.  Nevertheless  (and 
though  you  assure  me  that  reading  it  gave  you  the 
deepest  pleasure),  I  could  wish  that  it  had  never  been 
written.  Believe  me,  dear  sir,  yours  very  truly, 

A.  TENNYSON." 

I  will  quote  one  or  two  lines  of  the  poem 
on  Timbuctoo  ;  for  in  spite  of  the  poet's  dis- 
paragement it  contains  some  splendid  pas- 
sages, such  as.  — 


? 


•/ 


LORD   TENNYSON.  21 

My  thoughts,  which  long  had  grovelled  in  the  slime 
Of  this  dull  world,  like  dusky  worms  which  house 
Beneath  unshaken  waters,  but  at  once 
Upon  some  earth-awakening  day  of  spring 
Do  pass  from  gloom  to  glory,  and  aloft 
Winnow  the  purple,  bearing  on  both  sides 
Double  display  of  starlit  wings,  which  burn 
Fan-like  and  fibred  with  intensest  bloom  ; 
E'en  so  my  thoughts,  erewhile  so  low,  now  felt 
Unutterable  buoyancy  and  strength. 

And  again, — 

Thou  with  ravished  sense 
Listenest  the  lordly  music  flowing  from 
The  illimitable  years.     I   am  the  Spirit, 
The  permeating  life  which  courseth  through 
All  the  intricate  and  labyrinthine  veins 
Of  the  great  vine  of  Fable,  which,  outspread 
With  growth  of  shadowing  leaf,  and  clusters  rare, 
Reacheth  to  every  corner  under  heaven 
Deep-rooted  in  the  living  soil  of  truth, 
So  that  men's  hopes  and  fears  take  refuge  in 
The  fragrance  of  its  complicated  glooms 
And  cool  impleached  twilights. 

Another  circumstance  introduced  me  to 
his  notice.  As  a  young  man  I  wrote  a  book, 
now  out  of  print,  called  The  Origin  of 
Language.  It  interested  the  poet  ;  and, 
among  other  reasons,  because  I  had  dwelt 


22  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

much  on  the  onomatopoetic  force  of  words 
-the  descriptiveness,  so  to  speak,  of  their 
mere  sounds.  I  had  illustrated  this  by  the 
echo  of  the  sound  to  the  sense,  from  the 
days  of  Homer's  horses,  — 

7roAA.a  8'  avaira,  Karavra,  Trdpavra.  TC  So^/ita  T'  ij\0ov ; 

and  Virgil's  imitation  of  that  line,— 

Qnadrupedante  pedum  sonitu  quatit  tingula  campum  ; 

and   Homer's  cracking  spear,  — 

Tpi\@a.  Tf.  Kal  Ttrpa^Oa.  SiaTpu^ev ; 

and  Ennius', — 

At  tuba  terribili  sonitu  taratantara  dicit. 

I    quoted    many    of   Tennyson's    own    lines, 
such  as,  — 

And  roar  rock-thwarted  under  bellowing  caves  ; 
and, — 

The  mellow  lin-lan-lone  of  evening  bells  ; 
and,  — 

Myriads  of  rivulets  hurrying  through  the  lawns, 
The  moan  of  doves  in  immemorial  elms, 
And  murmur  of  innumerable  bees ; 


LORD  TENNYSON.  23 

and,  — 

The  brittle  fleet 

Touched,  clinked,  and  clashed,  and  vanished,  and  I  woke, 
I  heard  the  clash  so  clearly. 

Undoubtedly,  these  felicities  of  sound 
were  a  marked  and  carefully  cultivated  char- 
acteristic of  the  Laureate's  verse,  and  he 
told  me  that  he  was  greatly  pleased  with 
my  way  of  dwelling  on  and  illustrating  it. 

It  was  partly,  I  think,  his  interest  in  this 
book  which  made  him  express,  through  a 
friend,  his  good  wishes  for  my  success  when 
I  was  a  candidate  for  the  headmastership  of 
Marlborough  College.  At  that  time  his  eld- 
est son,  the  present  Lord  Tennyson,  was  a 
pupil  at  the  college,  under  the  Laureate's 
old  friend,  the  present  Dean  of  Westminster. 
He  was  probably  told  by  his  son  that  I  not 
infrequently  illustrated  my  teaching  by  refer- 
ences to  his  poems,  and  he  very  kindly  in- 
vited us  to  stay  with  him  at  Freshwater.1 

1  The  night  before  I  had  spent  at  the  delightful  Palace  of 
Art  of  the  late  Sir  John  Millais,  whose  son,  the  present  baronet, 
had  also  been  my  pupil,  and  who  was  several  times  our  guest  at 
Marlborough.  It  was  a  pleasant  reminiscence  to  me  to  pass  from 
the  house  of  one  of  our  greatest  painters  to  that  of  one  of  our  great- 
est poets. 


24  MEN  f  HA  VK  KNO  WN. 

The  hospitality  of  the  poet  and  that  of 
Lady  (then  Mrs.)  Tennyson  was  perfect. 
At  first  he  was  always  shy,  but  with  those 
who  won  his  confidence  this  very  soon  wore 
off.  There  was  something  delightfully  sim- 
ple and  straightforward  in  all  he  said,  and 
the  brusque  frankness  of  his  remarks  and 
questions  sometimes  made  one  laugh.  His 
appearance  was  that  with  which  many  pho- 
tographs have  familiarized  us.  In  his  large, 
round,  broad-brimmed  cloth  hat,  and  his 
ample  cloak,  and  with  his  long  beard,  he 
used  to  compare  his  own  appearance  to  that 
of  a  monk  or  a  brigand.  His  conversation, 
in  his  brighter  and  lighter  moods,  was  al- 
most boyish  in  its  vivacity,  and  at  more 
serious  moments  was  full  of  wisdom  and 
instructiveness.  The  first  moods  were  often 
shown  at  social  meals,  and  afterwards,  when 
it  was  the  custom  for  all  the  guests  to  ad- 
journ at  once  for  dessert  into  another  room, 
where  the  poet  used  sometimes  to  brew  a 
bowl  of  punch  with  much  delight.  But 
late  in  the  evening,  when  the  ladies  had 
retired,  and  he  was  smoking,  often  till  late 


LORD  TENNYSON.  25 

at  night  in  his  study,  he  was  ripe  for  con- 
versations, which  were  sometimes  of  absorb- 
ing interest,  and  touched  not  only 

On  labor  and  the  changing  mart, 

And  all  the  framework  of  the  land,  — 

for  he  felt  a  lively  concern  in  contemporary 
as  in  all  other  history, — but  also  on  some 
of  the  deepest  topics  of  life,  death,  and  what 
comes  hereafter.  Here  it  might  be  truly 
said  that  the  great  poet  "  rolled  us  out  his 
mind." 

After  this  first  visit  he  not  infrequently 
asked  us  to  be  his  guests,  and  every  visit 
was  full  of  happiness.  I  enjoyed  very 
greatly  the  long  walks  with  him  over  the 
"  noble  downs  "  and  through  the  green  fields 
and  shady  lanes  of  Freshwater,  and  over  the 
wide  moor  and  among  the  fine  views  at  Aid- 
worth.  I  shall  never  forget  how  one  even- 
ing we  did  not  return  from  our  walk  till  it 
was  nearly  dark,  and  our  footsteps  disturbed 
the  many  birds  which  sheltered  themselves 
in  undisturbed  security  in  the  densely  flower- 
ing shrubs  and  trees  which  surrounded  the 


26  MEN  J  HA  VE  A'ArO  \VN. 

poet's  home.  As  the  birds  uttered  their  va- 
rious notes  he  stopped  with  delight  and  said, 
"  There !  that  is  a  blackbird  ;  and  that  a 
thrush ;  and  that  a  robin  ;  and  that  a  blue- 
tit."  He  thus  showed  both  the  keenness  of 
his  hearing  and  his  intimately  familiar  knowl- 
edge of  "  the  voices  of  the  birds." 

It   was    usually    in    the   afternoon    that   he 

j 

would  delight  us,  and  any  of  the  other 
miests  who  were  at  his  house,  by  reading 

O>  J  4*> 

to  us  some  of  his  poems.  I  have  heard 
him  read  Guinevere,  and  other  of  his  Idylls. 
He  read  in  a  sort  of  recitative,  somewhat 
monotonously  at  times,  and  always  rhythmi- 
cally, but  with  such  deep  emotion  that  the 
effect  was  indescribable.  I  once  asked  him 
to  read  Boadicea,  because  of  its  singularly 
sonorous  lilt ;  and  he  did  so,  though  he  did 
not  regard  it  as  much  more  than  an  experi- 
ment in  language  and  metre. 

Two  of  his  readings  are  impressed  on  my 
memory  with  special  vividness.  One  was 
The  Revenge,  which  he  read  to  a  distin- 
guished company  whom  he  met  at  dinner 
at  our  house  at  Westminster.  Among  those 


LORD  TENNYSON.  27 

present  was  my  parishioner,  the  late  Lord 
Chancellor,  Lord  Hatherley,  —  one  of  the  best 
and  truest  men  whom  I  ever  knew,  —  towards 
whom  Mr.  Tennyson  seemed  to  be  immedi- 
ately drawn.  The  effect  of  his  reading  of  that 
noble  piece  was  like  that  of  a  vivid  picture, 
as  his  rich  sonorous  voice  rose  and  fell  with 
the  changes  of  the  impassioned  story. 

The  others  were  much  longer  readings. 
He  read  us  the  whole  of  Queen  Mary  before 
it  was  published.  It  has  never  been  among 
the  more  popular  of  his  works  ;  and  I  believe 
that  on  the  stage,  even  with  Sir  Henry  Irving 
to  help,  it  was  not  a  dramatic  success.  But 
as  the  poet  interpreted  it  by  his  sympathetic 
reading,  I  had  never  before  so  deeply  felt 
the  tragedy  of  the  life  of  that  miserable 
queen,  with  her  diseased  body,  her  disap- 
pointed love,  her  blighted  hopes,  and  the 
sour,  gloomy,  cruel,  empoisoned  fanaticism 
which  she  took  for  religion  and  the  service 

O 

of  her  God.  As  he  read,  breadth  on 
breadth  of  gloom  seemed  to  be  falling,  fold 
after  fold,  upon  the  life  of  the  unhappy 
woman,  and  his  own  voice  was  often  broken 


28  MEN  I  HA  VR  KNO  WN. 

by  emotion.  I  specially,  however,  remem- 
ber the  ring  of  triumph  with  which,  after 
the  successful  repression  of  Wyatt's  rebel- 
lion, the  queen  is  first  made  to  say,  — 

My  foes  are  at  my  feet  —  AND  I  AM  QUEEN! 
and  with  still  more  rapturous  passion, — 
My  foes  are  at  my  feet  —  AND  PHILIP  KING! 

I  also  specially  remember  his  reading  of 
the  poem  of  Akhbars  Dream.  He  told 
me  much  about  Akhbar  which  was  entirely 
new  to  me.  For  breadth  and  wisdom  of 
thought  this  poem  must  always  take  a  very 
high  place. 

Lord  Tennyson  wrote  one  quatrain  at  my 
request,  and  I  had  the  very  great  pleasure 
of  suggesting  to  him  the  subject  of  one  of 
his  finest  poems,  St.  Tclcmachus. 

The  quatrain  was  in  honor  of  Caxton. 
When  I  was  rector  of  St.  Margaret's,  West- 
minster, the  printers  of  London  gave  me 
a  beautiful  stained-glass  window  in  memory 
of  the  first  English  printer,  who  lies  buried 
in  the  church,  and  whose  signature  occurs 


LORD  TENNYSON.  29 

in  its  records  as  an  auditor  of  its  accounts. 
I  wanted  to  place  four  lines  under  the  win- 
dow, and  asked  the  Laureate  to  write  them 
for  me,  suggesting  that  he  might  make 
them  turn  on  Caxton's  motto,  "  Fiat  Lux." 
I  was  with  him  when  he  wrote  them,  in  his 
bedroom  at  the  deanery  of  Westminster ; 
and  witnessed,  so  to  speak,  their  birth- 
throes  until  he  became  satisfied  with  them. 
He  declared  that  they  had  cost  him  more 
trouble  than  many  a  substantive  poem ! 
They  are,  — 

Thy  prayer  was  "  Light  —  more  Light  —  while  Time 
shall  last !  " 

Thou  sawest  a  glory  growing  on  the  night, 
But  not  the  shadows  which  that  light  would  cast 

Till  shadows  vanish  in  the  Light  of  Light. 

Quatrains  were  afterwards  written  for  me 
—  and  may  be  still  read,  engraved  under 
the  windows  which  I  had  erected  in  the 
church  of  the  House  of  Commons  in  mem- 
ory of  many  great  men  —  by  Lowell,  Whit- 
tier,  Robert  Browning,  Sir  L.  Morris,  Sir  E. 
Arnold,  O.  W.  Holmes,  Lord  Lytton,  and 
the  Archbishop  of  Armagh.  Many  of  them 


30  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

were  good  and  striking,  but  not  one  of 
them  equals  the  quatrain  of  Tennyson. 

The  poem  of  St.  Telemachus  originated 
thus.  Lord  Tennyson,  one  day  when  I 
was  walking  with  him,  asked  me  to  sug- 
gest to  him  the  subject  of  a  poem.  After 
thinking  a  moment,  I  suggested  the  story 
of  St.  Telemachus,  leaping  down  into  the 
amphitheatre,  and  by  his  self-devoted  mar- 
tyrdom putting  an  end  forever  to  the  hid- 
eous butcheries  of  the  ofladiatorial  Barnes  — 

<">  o 

a  scene  which  I  have  since  described  in 
my  Gathering  Clouds.  To  my  surprise, 
he  had  never  heard  the  story,  and  was 
much  struck  with  it.  He  asked  me  to 
send  him,  when  I  returned,  all  the  authori- 
ties on  the  subject.  That  was  easily  done, 
for  it  rests  on  the  single  authority  of  the 
Greek  ecclesiastical  historian  Theodoret.  I 
sent  him  the  passage  in  the  original  Greek ; 
and  he  clothed  it  in  the  magnificent  poem, 
which  may  be  read  in  almost  his  latest 
volume,  TJic  Death  of  CEnonc ;  and  otlicr 
Poems. 

The    last    poem    I    ever    heard    him    read 


LORD  TENNYSON.  31 

was  Locksley  Hall  Sixty  Years  After.  As 
he  read  it  he  Hung-  singular  pathos  into 
the  famous  lines,  — 

Is  it  well  that  while  we  range  with  Science,  glorify- 
ing in  the  Time, 

City  children  soak  and  blacken  soul  and  sense  in 
city  slime  ? 

There,  among  the  glooming  alleys,  Progress  halts  on 
palsied  feet, 

Crime  and  hunger  cast  our  maidens  by  the  thousand 
on  the  street. 

But,  as  he  read,  he  occasionally  interpolated 
an  explanatory  remark,  and  was  careful  to 
impress  upon  us  that  the  poem  was  dra- 
matic in  character,  and  did  not  necessarily 
in  all  respects  express  his  personal  views. 

It  is  a  matter  of  humble  satisfaction  to 
me  that  Lord  Tennyson  was  greatly  inter- 
ested both  in  my  Life  of  CJirist  and  my 
sermons  on  Eternal  Hope.  The  latter  had  a 
special  attraction  for  him  ;  because  they  for- 
mulated a  view  which  he  had  always  held, 
and  respecting  which  he  had  expressed 
his  entire  sympathy  with  my  late  friend  and 
teacher,  Professor  Maurice,  in  the  lines,  — 


32  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

For  being  of  that  honest  few, 
Who  give  the  Fiend  himself  his  due, 
Should  eighty  thousand  College  Councils 
Thunder  anathemas,  friend,  at  you  ; 

Should  all  our  Churchmen  foam  in  spite 
At  you,  so  careful  of  the  right, 
Yet  one  lay-hearth  would  give  you  welcome 
(Take  it  and  come)  to  the  Isle  of  Wight. 

But  Lord  Tennyson's  views,  though  not 
dogmatic,  inclined  to  still  larger  hopes  than 
any  which  I  had  ventured  to  formulate.  He 
considered  that  if  a  single  soul  were  to  be 
left  in  what  are  called  "  endless  torments," 
—  that  if  the  old,  coarse,  cruel  conception, 
once  unhappily  universal,  of  hell  as  a  hide- 
ous torture-chamber  of  eternal  vivisection, 
were  true  even  for  one  single  soul,  —  it 
would  be  a  blot  upon  the  universe  of  God, 
and  the  belief  in  it  would  be  an  impugn- 
ing of  His  Infinite  Mercy.  This  he  ex- 
presses in  In  Memoriam,  — 

Oh,  yet  we  trust  that  somehow  good 
Will  be  the  final  goal  of  ill, 
To  pangs  of  nature,  sins  of  will, 

Defects  of  doubt,  and  taints  of  blood. 


LORD^TENNYSON.  33 

That  nothing  walks  with  aimless  feet, 
That  not  one  life  shall  be  destroyed, 
Or  cast  as  rubbish  to  the  void, 

When  God  hath  made  the  pile  complete  ; 

and  again  in  the  person  of  the  poor  victim 
in  his  Despair,  — 

When  the  light  of  a  Sun  that  was  coming  would  scat- 
ter the  ghosts  of  the  Past, 

And  the  cramping  creeds  that  had  maddened  the 
peoples  would  vanish  at  last, 

And  we  broke  away  from  the  Christ,  our  human 
brother  and  friend, 

For  He  spoke,  and  it  seemed  that  He  spoke,  of  a  Hell 
without  help,  without  end. 

Amid  all  his  deep  seriousness  of  mind 
the  poet  was  always  sensible  to  the  humor- 
ous ;  and  he  told  me,  with  much  amuse- 
ment, the  ludicrous  remark  of  a  farmer,  who, 
after  hearing  a  red-hot  sermon  of  never- 

o 

ending  fire  and  brimstone,  in  the  style  of 
Jonathan  Edwards  or  Father  Furniss,  con- 
soled his  wife  quite  sincerely  with  the  nai've 
remark,  "  Never  mind,  Sally  ;  that  must 
be  wrong :  no  constitooshun  couldn't  stand 
it !  " 

The    impression   left  by  one   conversation 


34  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

with  him  is  still  vivid  in  my  memory.  We 
were  walking  alone,  up  and  down  a  long 
walk  in  the  garden  at  Freshwater,  and  dis- 
coursing on  a  theme  respecting  which  we 
were  entirely  at  one  ;  namely,  the  very  limited 
nature  of  our  knowledge,  and  how  easily 
we  deceive  ourselves  into  the  notion  that 
we  know  many  things  of  which  the  reality  is 
entirely  hidden  from  us.  "  What  we  know 
is  little,  what  we  are  ignorant  of  is  immense." 
While  we  were  thus  talking  he  stooped  clown, 
and  plucked  one  of  the  garden  flowers  be- 
side the  path.  "  How  utterly  ignorant  we 
are  of  all  the  laws  that  underlie  the  life 
of  even  this  single  flower!"  he  said.  This 
line  of  thought  was  exactly  the  same  as 
that  which  he  expressed  in  the  striking 
poem,  — 

Flower  in  the  crannied  wall, 

I  pluck  you  out  of  the  crannies, 

I   hold  you  here,  root  and  all,  in  my  hand, 

Little  Mower  —  but  if  I  could  understand 

What  you  are,  root  and  all,  and  all  in  all, 

I  should  know  what  God  and  man  is. 

"  Rut    yet,"    he    said,    "  this    one    flower, 


LORD  TENNYSON.  35 

taken  by  itself,  is  quite  sufficient  to  tell  us 
all  that  it  is  most  essential  for  us  to  know. 
It  proves  to  us  the  love  of  God." 

I  will  mention  only  two  more  reminis- 
cences. When  the  Poet  Laureate's  brilliant 
son  Lionel,  whose  early  death  in  India 
caused  him  so  much  grief,  was  married  in 
Westminster  Abbey  to  Miss  Locker  Lamp- 
son  (now  Mrs.  Augustine  Birrell),  the  cere- 
mony was  to  have  been  performed  by  the 
poet's  old  friend,  Dean  Stanley.  But,  un- 
happily, when  the  clay  came,  to  his  own 
deep  regret  and  that  of  every  one  else,  the 
Dean  was  ill  in  bed,  and  was  unable  to  be 
present.  It  therefore  fell  to  my  lot  to  marry 
them.  The  marriage  service  was  chiefly 
read  at  the  lectern,  and  the  assemblage  of 

O 

notabilities  was  one  of  the  most  remarkable 
which  I  have  ever  witnessed.  All  the  great 
nobility,  especially  of  the  Liberal  party,  were 
present,  including  Mr.  Gladstone  and  the 
Duke  of  Argyll,  both  of  whom  signed  the 
marriage  register.  Of  the  "  celebrities  "  in 
the  world  of  Science,  Literature,  and  Art, 
few  were  absent.  Every  glance  one:  took 


36  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

showed  the  face  of  some  one  whom  it  was 
interesting  to  see.  As  the  throng  was  very 
large,  the  Dean  had  arranged  •  that  places 
should  be  res'erved  for  the  Poet  Laureate, 
Mrs.  Tennyson,  and  their  son  Hallam,  who 
was  with  them,  and  that  they  should  come 
in  at  the  last  moment  by  the  little  side-door 
in  the  north  transept  of  the  nave  —  a  door 
which  is  scarcely  ever  used,  and  which  in  the 
minute  symbolism  of  Benedictine  Churches 
is  supposed  by  some  to  be  made  for  the  exit 
of  the  Evil  Spirit,  exorcised  by  the  baptism 
of  infants  at  the  west  "door;  —  since  the 
north  is  the  region  traditionally  assigned  to 
the  Evil  One.  The  door  was  to  have  been 
left  unfastened  for  the  entrance  of  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Tennyson,  but  by  some  accident  this 
had  been  overlooked.  The  bride  and  bride- 
groom, the  best-man,  the  bridesmaids,  were 
all  standing  ready  ;  the  choir  was  densely 
thronged.  I  did  not  see  the  father,  mother, 
and  brother  of  the  bridegroom ;  but  they 
might  be  easily  overlooked  in  such  a  mul- 
titude, and  I  naturally  assumed  that  they 
were  present.  The  service  began,  and  it 


LORD  TENNYSON.  37 

was  only  when  I  came  to  the  sentence,  "  I 
pronounce  that  they  be  man  and  wile  to- 
gether," that  I  noticed  the  Tennysons  en- 
tering the  choir.  Finding  the  door  locked 

o  o 

by  which  they  were  to  have  been  admitted, 
they  were  under  great  difficulties,  since  it 
is  not  easy  for  strangers  to  find  their  way 
about  the  Precincts.  They  came,  I  suppose, 
through  the  Deanery,  round  by  Dean's  Yard, 
and  so  by  the  Abbot's  private  entrance  ; 
and  I  was  particularly  glad  that  they  came 
in  just  in  time  to  hear  the  blessings  pro- 
nounced upon  the  wedded  pair.  Mrs.  Ten- 
nyson was  a  great  invalid  ;  and  it  was  a 
touching  sight  to  see  her  enter,  supported 
by  the  Poet  Laureate  and  her  son,  upon 
whose  arms  she  leaned. 

After  the  ceremony,  the  chief  guests  went 
into  the  Jerusalem  Chamber  for  the  signing 
of  the  register.  It  was  almost  impossible  to 
secure  a  passage  for  the  distinguished  per- 
sonages who  were  to  sign  as  witnesses. 
After  securing  the  signatures  of  Mr.  Glad- 
stone and  the  Duke  of  Argyll,  I  had  to  find 
Mr.  Tennyson,  —  it  was  not  till  afterwards 


38  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

that  he  received  his  title, —  and  steer  him 
to  the  book.  He  was  short-sighted  ;  and  the 
Jerusalem  Chamber,  always  somewhat  dark, 
was  still  more  so  from  its  densely  crowded 
condition.  As  I  held  his  arm  and  led  him 
along,  a  lady  held  out  her  hand  with  a 
warm,  — 

"  How  are  you,  Mr.  Tennyson  ?  I  am 
glad  that  you  got  in  just  in  time." 

"  Oh,  how  do  you  do?"  he  answered.  "  I 
have  not  the  least  idea  who  you  are  !  " 

"  I  am  Mrs.  Lewes,"  she  said,  with  a 
smile. 

It  was  his  friend  and  neighbor,  "  George 
Eliot;"  but  (as  he  stopped  to  explain)  he 
could  hardly  distinguish  her  features  in  the 
crowd  and  dim  light  of  the  ancient  famous 
Chamber,  and  had  not,  at  the  moment,  rec- 
ognized her  voice.  This  was  the  only  time 
that  I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  "  George 
Eliot." 

My  last  visit  to  Lord  Tennyson  was  when 
he  was  old,  infirm,  and  very  near  his  end. 
My  friend  the  late  distinguished  and  brilliant 
Dr.  Phillips  Brooks,  Bishop  of  Massachu- 


LORD  TENNYSON.  39 

setts,  was  in  England  ;   and  though  he  would 

c!>  O 

not  stay  at  my  house  —  as  he  moved  about 
constantly,  and  preferred  to  be  quite  free  — 
I  saw  him  almost  daily.  I  was  going  to 
Aldworth  to  spend  a  day  with  Lord  and 
Lady  Tennyson  ;  and  knowing  that  the  poet 
knew  the  Bishop,  and  that  it  would  be  a 
great  pleasure  to  them  both  to  meet  again, 
I  asked  leave  to  bring  him  with  me.  Lord 
Tennyson's  carriage  met  us  at  the  station, 
and  after  a  lovely  drive  we  reached  the 
house.  The  poet  looked  very  worn  and 
very  ill  ;  but  we  spent  a  delightful  day  with 
him,  almost  entirely  in  the  open  air,  sitting 
and  walking  in  the  garden  with  him  and  his 
son  Hallam,  who  devoted  many  years  of  his 
life  to  the  care  of  his  father,  and  to  watch- 
ing over  his  health  and  happiness  with  most 
tender  and  assiduous  devotion.  We  talked 
of  many  of  the  deepest  subjects  of  human 
interest,  and  he  read  us  some  of  those  short 
poems  which  came  out  in  his  last  volume. 

Just  before  we  left,  the  Bishop  asked  him, 
with  many  apologies,  if  he  would  kindly  sign 
his  name  in  a  volume  of  his  poems,  which 


40  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

he  had  brought  for  that  purpose.  He  did 
not  generally  like  writing  his  autograph  ;  but 
he  at  once  assented,  and  not  without  a  lit- 
tle physical  difficulty  wrote  his  name  on  the 
title-page.  After  a  very  kindly  farewell,  he 
sent  us  back  to  the  station  in  his  carriage. 
As  we  drove  out  of  the  gates  which  lead 

o 

to  the  grounds,  the  Bishop  turned  to  me, 
and  I  to  him,  with  the  very  same  words 
upon  our  lips,  "  We  shall  never  see  him 
again  /" 

It  was  true.  Lord  Tennyson  shortly  after- 
wards ended  the  noble,  simple  life,  during 
which,  for  nearly  half  a  century,  he  had 
held  the  unquestioned  rank  of  the  greatest 
poet  of  his  time,  and  in  which  he  had  so 
greatly  "  enriched  the  blood  of  the  world"  by 
"  thoughts  that  breathe,  and  words  that  burn." 

This  was  also  the  last  day  which  I  spent 
with  my  dear  and  honored  friend  Phillips 
Brooks.  How  little  I  could  have  believed 
that  a  man  so  full  of  vigor,  much  younger 
than  I,  and  so  splendid  a  specimen  of  a  man, 
would  be  called  away  so  short  a  time  after- 
wards ! 


LORD  TENNYSON.  41 

I  was  with  Lord  Tennyson  the  night  be- 
fore he  first  took  his  seat  in  the  House  of 
Lords.  I  witnessed  the  grand  and  simple 
dignity  with  which  he  advanced  to  sign  his 
name  on  the  list  of  peers.  Never  was  a  man 
less  elated  with  the  pride  which  more  vulgar 
natures  might  have  displayed,  even  against 
their  will.  A  noble  name  could  add  but 
little  lustre  to  -a  character  so  natural,  so 
manly,  and  so  noble,  as  that  of  this  great 
teacher  of  his  age. 


Hi*. 
M   fa 


II. 

ROBERT   BROWNING. 

PROFOUNDLY  as  I  reverenced  and  loved 
Lord  Tennyson,  I  had  equal  regard  for  the 
other  great  poet  of  our  time,  Mr.  Robert 
Browning,  and  esteemed  it  no  less  an  honor 
to  have  known  him  ;  to  have  met  him  fre- 
quently ;  to  have  welcomed  him  often  as 
my  own  guest;  and  to  have  had  many  a  de- 
lightful conversation  with  him.  "  Give  me 
a  great  thought  that  I  may  live  on  it,"  said 
Herder.  How  many  great  thoughts  on 
which  we  may  live  —  thoughts  on  the  great- 
est and  deepest  of  all  subjects,  and  ex- 
pressed in  the  loveliest  and  most  perfect 
language  —  may  we  derive  from  the  many 
volumes  in  which  these  two  leading  poets 
of  our  age  gave  us  of  their  best !  How 
much  poorer  would  be  the  mental  equip- 
ment of  many  of  us  in  this  generation  if 

42 


:  i 


BROWNING  AT  77  (1889). 


R OBER T  BRO  WNING.  43 

these  two  gifted  souls  had  not  so  often,  for 
our  advantage,  - 

fed  on  thoughts  which  voluntarily  move 
Harmonious  musing. 

How  great,  again,  was  the  gain  which 
we  derived  from  the  beauty  and  simplicity 
of  their  lives !  How  unlike  they  were  to 
poets  like  Kit  Marlowe  and  Greene,  and 
others,  who  — 

stood  around 
The  throne  of  Shakespeare,  sturdy  but  unclean. 

How  free  were  their  lives  from  the  sordid 
circumstances  which  stained  the  careers  of 
men  like  George  Withers  and  Edmund 
Waller;  how  free  from  the  bitter  jealous  ac- 
rimonies of  men  like  Pope;  from  the  men- 
tal cloud  which  darkened  the  latter  days 
of  Cowper  and  of  Southey  ;  from  the  "  in- 
effectual angelhood  "  of  Shelley,  the  laxities 
of  Tom  Moore,  or  the  wild  passions  and 
premature  misery  of  Byron  !  Both  of  them 
might  have  derived  happiness  from  the 
thought  which  comforted  Wordsworth  in  the 
days  when  he  was  neglected  and  ridiculed, 


44  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

-that  they  had  never  written  a  line  which 
could  call  a  blush  on  a  pure  cheek ;  that 
their  works  would  co-operate  with  every 
beneficent  influence  upon  human  nature  ; 
that  they  had  ever  been  on  the  side  of 
freedom,  nobleness,  and  love  ;  that  they  had 
added  sunlight  to  daylight  by  making  the 
happy  happier.  In  simplicity  and  dignity, 
alike  in  years  of  struggle  —  or  at  best  of 
very  modest  competence  —  and  in  years  of 
abundance,  if  not  of  wealth  ;  alike  in  years 
of  detraction  and  imperfect  recognition,  and 
in  years  of  secure  and  settled  fame,  in  which 
they  held  an  acknowledged  supremacy 
among  the  literary  circles  of  their  day,  they 
showed  the  high  example  of  men  who  knew 
that- 

Self-reverence,  self-knowledge,  self-control. 
These  three  alone  lead  life  to  sovereign  power; 

and  that  the  self-possession  of  simple,  right- 
eous, native  manhood  is  the  most  beautiful 
of  all  human  attainments. 

For  my  own  part,  if  I  were  to  enumerate 
the  many  blessings  of  my  life,  among  them 


R OBER T  BRO  WNING.  45 

would  certainly  be  the  fact  that  I  had  been 
permitted  to  hold  familiar  intercourse  with 
two  such  poets  as  Alfred  Lord  Tennyson 
and  Mr.  Robert  Browning. 

Once  Lord  Tennyson,  knowing  my  rever- 
ence for  Mr.  Browning,  on  whose  teaching 
I  had  been  delivering  a  lecture,  asked  me 
humorously,  "  whether  I  did  not  consider 
him  almost  the  only  poet  of  the  age?" 

It  was  very  far  from  being  the  case. 
Their  respective  spheres  and  gifts  were  very 
distinct;  each  of  them  supplemented,  in  va- 
rious ways,  the  high  teaching  of  the  other. 
Nor  was  there  a  particle  of  rivalry  between 
them.  They  were  the  best  of  friends  ;  and 
Lord  Tennyson  dedicated  his  Tiresias,  and 
Other  Poems,  in  the  words, — 

To  my  good  Friend 
ROBERT  BROWNING, 

ll'/inse  genius  and  geniality 

Will  best  appreciate  ivhat  may  be  best, 

And  make  most  allowance  for  'what  may  be  worst, 

This  volume 

is 
Affectionately  dedicated. 

I   am  in   no  sense  pretending  to  offer  the 


46  MEN  I  HATE  KXO WN. 

slightest  sketch  of  any  biography,  but  only 
to  record  such  general  reminiscences  as  can 
pain  or  annoy  nobody,  and  may  be  of  pass- 
ing interest  to  some. 

It  was  at  one  of  the  delightful  literary  din- 
ners —  which  at  one  time  used  to  be  given 
annually  on  "  All  Fools'  Day,"  by  the  late 
publisher,  Mr.  Macmillan,  in  his  house  at 
Balham —  that  I  first  saw  Mr.  Browning. 
He  was  very  fond  of  society  and  of  dining 
out;  so  much  so  that  Lord  Tennyson,  who 
was  very  much  more  of  a  recluse,  used 
laughingly  to  say  to  him  that  he  would  die 
in  an  evening  dress  suit !  But  the  reason  of 

o 

Browning's  fondness  for  society  was  that  he 
used  to  read  in  the  minds  of  men  as  in  a 
book.  Human  beings  of  every  type  were  to 
him  like  manuscripts  of  infinite  variety,  and 
worth  the  most  careful  study.  He  could 
never  be  dull  in  human  company. 

Mr.  Macmillan's  guests  met  at  the  railway 
station,  and  Mr.  Browning  was  pointed  out 
to  me  as  he  was  hurrying  in  to  take  his 
ticket.  Even  then  his  hair  was  perfectly 
white.  He  was  dressed,  as  always,  with 


ROBERT  BRO  WNING.  47 

faultless  neatness ;  and,  though  his  figure 
was  very  short,  his  face  was  one  of  the  most 
perfect  symmetry,  and,  it  might  even  be 
said,  of  beauty.  When  you  looked  at  him 
you  felt  at  once  that  you  were  in  the  pres- 
ence of  no  ordinary  man. 

I  still  possess  the  interesting  menu  cards 
of  some  of  those  dinners,  with  the  facsimile 
autographs  of  the  guests  at  the  back.  One 
of  the  cards  is  here  reproduced. 

I  never  again  expect  to  take  part  in  re- 
unions so  delightful  as  were  some  of  these 
parties  ;  and  it  would  indeed  be  far  from  easy 
in  these  days  to  assemble  a  little  gathering 
which  could  be  enriched  by  such  a  minorlinsf 

J  t3  O 

of  genius  and  geniality  as  marked  the  char- 
acters of  Robert  Browning,  Matthew  Arnold, 
and  Dean  Stanley.  It  may  easily  be  under- 
stood that  at  such  gatherings  there  was 
no  lack  of  "  heart-affluence  in  discursive 
talk  ;  "  of  "  the  feast  of  reason,  and  the  flow 
of  soul." 

Unlike  Tennyson,  Mr.  Browning  did  not 
usually  speak  by  choice  in  ordinary  society 
on  the  deepest  subjects  of  thought.  I  have, 


48  MEN  /  HA  VE  KNO IV N. 

however,  heard  him  do  so,  especially  on  one 
occasion  at  the  Athenaeum  —  where  I  very 
often  met  him — just  before  his  publication 
of  La  Saisiaz.  He  told  me  all  the  circum- 
stances which  had  led  him  to  write  that 
poem,  and  how  deeply  he  had  been  im- 
pressed with  the  awful  suddenness  of  the 
death  of  the  lady  friend  which  had  led  him 
to  the  train  of  thought  there  expressed. 

"I  have  there,"  he  said,  "given  utterance 
to  some  of  my  deepest  convictions  about 
this  life  and  the  life  to  come." 

Mr.  Browning  was  an  admirable  racon- 
teur ;  and  when  one  had  heard  him  tell  a 
story,  whether  it  was  serious  or  whether  it 
was  jocose,  one  never  forgot  it.  Let  me 
ofive  an  instance  or  two  of  both  kinds. 

o 

He  had  been  a  considerable  traveller,  and 
we  were  talking  about  the  peculiar  sen- 
sations of  seasickness.  He  was  himself  a 
good  sailor,  and  did  not  suffer ;  but  he  told 
me  that  once  at  the  very  beginning  of  a 
stormy  passage  across  the  Channel,  a  crowd 
of  ladies  and  others  were  gathered  around 
a  distinguished  foreign  physician,  who  in  la- 


X OBER T  BRO WNING.  49 

borious  English  was  telling  them  how  they 
might  secure  perfect  immunity  from  this 
trouble.  "  To  be  quite  free  from  the  mal  de 
mer"  he  said,  just  as  the  vessel  was  start- 
ing, "  all  that  you  have  to  do  is  to  sit  per- 
fectly still ;  you  must  recline  back  in  your 
chair  on  the  deck ;  you  must  close  your 
eyes  ;  and  then  "  — 

Here  a  sudden  rush  of  the  speaker  to  the 
side  of  the  vessel,  and  a  violent  access  of  the 
calamity  from  which  he  was  promising  cer- 
tain deliverance,  cut  short  his  harangue,  and 
disturbed  the  confidence  of  his  hearers  in 
the  promised  panacea. 

Mr.  Browning's  sense  of  humor  was  quick. 
I  once  asked  him  about  Tfie  Steed  which 
brouglit  Good  News  from  GJient,  and 
whether  the  incident  had  any  historic  basis  ; 
for  I  told  him  that  a  friend  of  mine  had 
taken  very  considerable  trouble  to  search 
various  histories,  and  discover  whether  it 
was  true  or  not. 

"  No,"  he  said  ;  "  the  whole  poem  was 
purely  imaginary.  I  had  had  a  long  voyage 
in  a  sailing-vessel  (I  think  it  was  from  Mes- 


50  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

sina  to  Naples),  and,  being  rather  tired  of 
the  monotony,  thought  of  a  good  horse  of 
mine,  and  how  much  I  should  enjoy  a  quick 
ride.  As  I  could  not  ride  in  reality,  I 
thought  that  I  would  enjoy  a  ride  in  ima- 
gination ;  "  —  and  he  then  and  there  wrote 
that  most  popular  of  his  lyrics. 

He  told  me  that  during  the  same  voyage 
he  had  asked  the  skipper  to  awake  him  when 
they  sighted  the  island  of  Capri,  if  they 
should  happen  to  pass  it  very  early  in  the 
morning,  before  he  woke. 

"  Why  should  you  care  to  be  awaked  to 
see  Capri  ?  "  asked  the  skipper. 

In  reply,  Browning  sketched  to  him  some 
of  the  facts  and  legends  of  the  long  resi- 
dence of  the  Emperor  Tiberius  in  the  island, 
to  which  his  auditor  listened  in  silent  as- 
tonishment. As  they  were  passing  Capri  he 
came  and  awoke  Mr.  Browning,  and,  point- 
ing to  the  island,  said  laconically,  to  the 
poet's  great  amusement,  — 

"  There's  where  that  Great  Mogul  used 
to  live!" 

I   have   heard  him  narrate  two  other  sto- 


R OBER T  BRO  WNING.  51 

ries,  both  of  them  Eastern  legends  about 
King  Solomon,  which  impressed  me  much. 
One  was  as  follows  :  — 

I  had  been  telling  him  the  well-known 
Mohammedan  myth,  —  how  Solomon,  in  his 
intense  pride  in  the  horses  and  chariots, 
which  were  a  dubious  and  half-forbidden  in- 
novation among  the  adjuncts  of  Jewish  roy- 
alty, had  once  been  surprised  in  the  midst 
of  his  review  by  the  voice  of  the  muezzin 
(Eastern  legends  are  always  perfectly  in- 
different about  anachronisms)  and  the  sum- 
mons to  the  evening  prayer.  Not  knowing 
how  to  attend  in  time  to  this  religious  duty, 
Solomon  magnificently  consecrated  all  his 
forty  thousand  horses  to  Allah  and  his  ser- 
vice. In  reward  for  this  sacrifice,  Allah 
presented  him  with  a  magic  carpet,  which 
would  at  a  wish  transport  to  any  distance 
the  person  who  sat  upon  it.  Once,  as  Solo- 
mon was  consulting  with  his  grand  vizier, 
Azrael,  the  Angel  of  Death,  passed  by  and 
gazed  curiously  at  the  vizier,  who  instantly, 
in  alarm,  entreated  the  king  to  lend  him  the 
magic  carpet,  and  bade  it  transport  him  to 


52  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

the  centre  of  the  desert  of  Arabia.  No 
sooner  had  he  gone  than  Azrael  said  to  the 
king,  "  I  looked  at  that  man  so  closely, 
because,  having  been  bidden  to  summon  his 
soul  from  the  centre  of  the  Great  Desert,  I 
saw  him,  to  my  surprise,  standing  here  with 
you." 

Mr.  Browning  agreed  that  the  legend  was 
a  magnificent  illustration  of  the  two  truths, 
that  no  man  can  ever  escape  his  destiny, 
and  that  often  he  fulfils  it  the  more  cer- 
tainly by  the  very  endeavor  to  escape  it. 

"  But,"  he  added,  "  I  have  heard  the 
legend  in  a  far  finer  form.  In  this  version 

v!5 

the  king  and  the  vizier  were  standing  to- 
gether on  the  topmost  pinnacle  of  the  tem- 
ple, to  which  they  had  ascended  by  a  vast 
flight  of  steps.  As  they  stood  there  talk- 
ing, they  saw  a  man  approaching  them  with 
his  head  bent ;  but  as  he  came  to  the  foot 
of  the  steps  he  cast  one  glance  upwards, 
and  in  that  one  glance  both  of  them  rec 

o 

ognized  the  awful  lineaments  of  the  Angel 
of  Death.  He  began  slowly  to  mount  the 
steps  ;  and  then  the  terrified  vizier,  borrow- 


R  OBER  T  BR  O  WNING.  53 

ing  the  magic  carpet,  desired  to  be  trans- 
ferred to  the  loitiest  summit  of  Caucasus. 
The  angel  ascended  the  steps  and  said  to 
the  king,  '  I  have  come  because  I  \vas  bid- 
den to  take  the  soul  of  your  vizier  from 
the  top  of  El  Brouz,  and  I  saw  him  here.' 
-  '  Angel,'  said  the  king,  bowing  his  head 
and  pointing  with  his  ringer,  '  he  awaits 
thee  on  the  highest  peak  of  Caucasus ! ' 

The  other  legend  was  that  of  the  death 
of  King  Solomon,  which  the  late  Lord  Lyt- 
ton  heard  from  Mr.  Browning,  and  clothed 
in  magnificent  verse  in  his  Chronicles  and 

o 

Characters.      The    kin?-   had   crone    into  the 

O  c!> 

holy  place  to  worship  ;  and  while  he  stood 
there,  in  his  jewelled  crown,  and  in  all  the 
golden  splendor  of  his  royal  robes,  the  fin- 
ger of  Azrael  suddenly  touched  him,  and  he 
died  where  he  was  — 

Leaning  upon  the  ebony  staff 

Signed  with  the  seal  of  the   Pentegraph. 

The  corpse  stood  motionless  in  all  its  per- 
ishing magnificence  ;  but  the  awe  of  the 
great  king  — 


54  MEN  I  HA I'E  KNO  WN. 

To  whom  were  known,  so  Agar's  offspring  tell, 
The  powerful  vigil,  and  the  starry  spell, 
The  midnight  call  Hell's  awful  legions  dread, 
And  sounds  that  break  the  slumbers  of  the  dead  — 

kept  all  men,  even  the  chief  priests,  from 
drawing  near  or  touching  him,  while  all 
the  demons  also  were  kept  afar  by  the 
graven  spell.  Then  forth  from  the  temple 
wall  crept  a  little  brown  mouse,  too  insig- 
nificant a  creature  to  feel  any  reverence. 
It  gnawed  away  the  leather  at  the  bottom 
of  the  staff,  and  lo,  suddenly  the  gorgeous 
figure  fell  down  flat  upon  its  face,  and 
slipped  into  ashes  ;  and  out  of  the  dust 
they  picked  a  golden  crown  ! 

In  his  Mr.  Sludge  tJie  Medium,  Mr. 
Browning  expressed  his  contemptuous  dis- 
belief of  what  is  called  "  spiritualism,"  and 
poured  disdain  upon  the  tricks  of  which 
professional  "  mediums"  often  availed  them- 
selves. But  one  day,  when  I  was  talking 
to  him  on  this  subject,  he  admitted  that 
there  were  many  apparently  curious  mys- 
teries of  thought-transmission  for  which  he 

o 

could    not    readily    account.      He    said    that 


X OBER T  BRO  WNING.  55 

once  in  Italy  he  met  an  Italian  count  who  had 
the  reputation  of  being  able  to  read  thoughts 
and  to  tell  of  occurrences  by  handling  objects 
connected  with  them.  The  count  knew  that 
the  poet  was  entirely  sceptical  as  to  his  pro- 
fessed powers,  and  said  to  him,  — 

"  Have  you  anything  on  your  person  to 
which  any  history  is  attached  ? " 

Mr.  Browning  said,  "  No  ;  "  but  a  moment 
after  he  remembered  that  he  was  wearing- 

o 

a  pair  of  sleeve-links  to  which  there  was  a 
history.  Correcting  himself,  he  said,  - 

"  Oh,  yes;  these  sleeve-links  are  associated 
with  a  remarkable  occurrence." 

Mr.    Browning's   grandfather   had  been   a 

<7>  O 

resident  in  the  West  Indies  ;  and  his  uncle 
had  there  been  murdered  by  slaves,  and 
these  sleeve-links,  which  he  had  been  wear- 
ing, had  been  taken  from  his  corpse.  The 
count  laid  them  on  the  palm  of  his  right 
hand,  and,  after  looking  intently  first  at  them 
and  then  at  Mr.  Browning,  exclaimed,  — 

"  It  is  a  very  strange  thing;  but  as  I  look 
at  these  sleeve-links  I  hear  a  voice  crying 
in  my  ears,  '  Murder  !  murder  ! ' 


56  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

That  the  count  could  not  have  heard  the 
story  beforehand  Browning  was  certain  ;  he 
thought  it  possible  that  he  might  have  made 
a  lucky  guess,  or  have  conjectured  some- 
thing from  the  expression  on  his  face. 

From  what  Eastern  source  Mr.  Browning 

o 

had  derived  the  legends  of  Solomon  I 
omitted  to  ask  ;  but  he  was  the  most  om- 
nivorous reader  I  ever  met,  —  far  more  so 
than  Lord  Tennyson,  —  and  he  seemed  (as 
indeed  the  range  of  his  allusions  show)  to 
know  something  about  everything.  I  be- 
lieve that  when  he  was  writing  Sordello  he 
exhausted  every  book  in  the  British  Museum 
which  touched  on  the  little-known  story  of 
the  Italian  poet.  The  accuracy  with  which 
he  mastered  even  the  most  recondite  allu- 
sions to  his  subjects  before  he  fused  them 
together  in  the  crucible  of  his  imagination 
was  most  remarkable. 

His  memory,  too,  was  very  retentive.  He 
once  repeated  to  me  a  great  part  of  the 
poem  of  poor  George  Smart  on  David, 
which  he  regarded  as  reaching  a  very  high 
poetic  level ;  but  he  had  read  everything 


R OBERT  BR O  WNING.  57 

from  Busbequius  to  Beddoes  —  for  whom 
he  told  me  he  had  a  very  high  admiration, 
when  I  had  quoted  to  him  some  lines  from 
his  dramas.  This  accuracy  was  extended 
to  the  minutest  and  most  apparently  insig- 
nificant details.  In  Florence  it  is  possible 
to  identify  the  very  spot  on  which  he  was 
standing  when  he  bought  for  a  few  pence 
the  old  paper  copy  of  the  trial  of  Count 
Guido,  which  suggested  to  him  his  longest, 
and  in  some  respects  most  remarkable,  poem, 
The  Ring  and  the  Book.  The  copy  is  still 
preserved  by  his  son,  who  showed  it  to  me, 
with  other  relics  of  his  father,  when  I  dined 
with  him  at  his  Venetian  palace,  in  which 
I  saw  the  truckle-bed  and  simply  furnished 
upper  room  in  which  his  great  father  had 
breathed  his  last. 

In  later  years  Mr.  Browning  was  particu- 
larly cordial  to  me,  not  only  because  he 
knew  how  deep  was  the  debt  of  gratitude 
which  I  owed  to  him  for  all  that  I  had  learnt 
from  his  poems,  but  also  because  he  was 
kind  enough  to  believe  that  I  had  greatly 
promoted  the  sale  of  his  writings  in  Amer- 


58  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

ica.  When,  some  ten  years  ago,  I  visited 
America,  it  had  not  been  at  all  my  original 
intention  to  make  what  is  called  "  a  lectur- 
ing tour,"  but  only  to  deliver  a  theological 
course  on  a  particular  foundation  to  which 
I  had  been  invited  by  the  late  Bishop  of 
Pennsylvania.  When,  however,  I  yielded  to 
the  strong  pressure  which  induced  me  to 
lecture  in  some  of  the  great  cities  of  the 
States,  I  chose  "  Browning's  Poems  "  as  the 
subject  for  one  of  my  lectures.  The  poet's 
readers  and  admirers  in  America  could  not 
at  that  time  have  been  very  numerous ;  for 
before  I  gave  my  lecture  at  Boston  — cer- 
tainly the  most  intellectual  and  literary  city 
in  the  United  States  —  I  was  told  that  not 
half  a  dozen  copies  of  his  poems  had  been 
sold  there  during  the  year.  The  morning 
after  my  lecture,  every  copy  which  could  be 
procured  either  in  Boston  or  in  the  neigh- 
borhood was  in  immediate  demand.  Mr. 
Browning  more  than  once  expressed  his  ob- 
ligation to  me  for  this  service  ;  but  I  could 
not  claim  the  smallest  gratitude.  I  am  sure 

o 

that  he  overestimated  the  effects  of  my  lee- 


6/JS, 


/ 

.     fi/fa 

/ 

4  J 


(/ 


<fi 

fa   Jrfa    IfTY 


R OBER T  BRO  WN1NG.  59 

tures  upon  the  sale  of  his  works  ;  and,  in 
any  case,  I  was  only  acting  in  the  spirit  of 
the  old  sentence,  \afA7rd8ia  ev  ^epalv  e%ovT€S 

SiaStocrova-iv  aXXr/Xo^  I  was  trying  to  hand 
on  the  torch  which  had  given  light  to  me. 

The  letter  here  reproduced  will  show  how 
keenly  he  appreciated  the  grateful  estimate 
which  I  had  formed  of  the  value  of  his 
poems. 

It  would  have  been  a  great  temptation 
to  ask  Mr.  Browning  for  an  explanation  of 
some  of  the  undoubtedly  serious  difficulties 
which  abound,  both  as  to  the  point  of  view 
in  many  of  his  poems,  and  also  as  to  the 
meaning  of  a  number  of  passages  which  — 
owing  to  his  peculiar  style,  his  habit  of  ab- 
breviation, his  elliptic  forms  of  grammar, 
and  his  passion  for  amazing  rhymes  —  are 
undoubtedly  very  difficult  to  construe,  and 
have  received  very  different  explanations 
from  his  admirers.  I  would  not,  however, 
do  this,  because  the  poet  studiously  avoided 
offering  any  explanations.  There  were  his 
poems  and  his  thoughts  —  the  best  that  he 
could  give.  They  represented  thorough  and 


60  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

conscientious  effort,  the  results  of  what  he 
regarded  as  his  main  work  in  life.  You 
might  understand  and  be  enriched  by  them, 
or,  if  you  chose,  you  might  fling  them  aside, 
as  some  one  is  said  to  have  tossed  the 
poems  of  Persius  into  a  corner  with  the  re- 
mark, "  Si  non  vis  intelligi  non  debes  legi;  " 
or  like  Douglas  Jerrold,  who,  on  trying  Sor- 
dello,  declared  that  it  contained  only  two 
intelligible  lines  ;  the  first,  — 

Who  will  may  hear  Bordello's  story  told, 
and  the  last,  — 

Who  would  has  heard  Bordello's  story  told ; 

and  that  those  two  lines  contained  an  ab- 
solute falsehood  ! 

In  the  few  lines  of  manly  preface  to  one 
of  the  later  editions  of  his  poems,  while 
expressing  gratitude  for  the  sincere  if  be- 
lated appreciation  which  had  come  to  him, 
he  said  that  his  friends  would  believe  that 
he  had  never  given  to  the  world  anything 
which  was  "  wilfully  obscure,  unconscien- 

4 

tiously  careless,  or  perversely  harsh." 


7? OBER T  BRO  WNING  61 

"  I  can  have  little  doubt,"  he  wrote  to 
a  friend,  "  that  my  writing  has  been  in  the 
main  too  hard  for  many ;  but  I  never  de- 
signedly tried  to  puzzle  people,  as  some 
of  my  critics  have  supposed.  On  the  other 
hand,  I  never  pretended  to  offer  such  litera- 
ture as  should  be  a  substitute  for  a  cigar 
or  a  game  of  dominoes  to  an  idle  man  ;  so 
perhaps,  on  the  whole,  I  get  my  deserts, 
and  something  over ;  not  a  crowd,  but  a 
few  I  value  more." 

But  in  his  Pacckiarotto  he  drew  a  marked 
distinction  between  "  Shop  "  -  the  works 
which  he  published  for  all  men  —  and 
"  House "  -  the  secrets  of  a  heart  which 
nothing  would  induce  him  to  wear  upon 
his  sleeve  for  claws  to  peck  at.  I  feel  con- 
vinced that  for  this  reason,  when  he  was 
asked  to  explain  this  or  that  poem,  or  pas- 
sage in  any  of  his  poems,  he  deliberately 
put  off  the  questions  with  remarks  which 
he  did  not  always  intend  to  be  understood 
too  seriously.  His  task  in  life  was  to  write 
poems  to  the  best  of  his  power,  and  as 
clearly  as  his  idiosyncrasy  permitted  —  not 


62  MEN  I  HA  lrE  A'A7O  \VN. 

to  comment  on  them  afterwards.  He  never 
professed  to  furnish  rubbish  which  could 
be  as  easily  understood  as  a  paragraph  of 
gossip. 

He  was  once  questioned  about  Childe 
Roland  to  the  Dark  Tower  came,  which  is 
a  poem  not  only  absolutely  intelligible,  but 
prolific  in  concentrated  lessons  of  heroic 
and  death-defying  fortitude.  Yet  he  would 
say  no  more  about  it  than  that  it  was 
suggested  partly  by  a  lonely  castle-turret 
"  precipice-encurled "  which  he  had  seen 
"  in  a  gash  of  the  wind-grieved  Apennines," 
and  partly  by  a  worn  old  piece  of  tapestry, 
once  belonging  to  his  father,  on  which, 
among  other  things,  was  represented  a 
horse,  which  looked  as  gaunt  and  ghastly 
as  the  one  described  in  the  poem.  The 
magnificent  and  inspiring  lesson  lay  en- 
shrined in  the  poem  itself,  but  if  any  one 
desired  to  profit  by  it,  he  must  find  it  for 
himself.  If  he  missed  it,  the  poet  had  no 
more  to  say. 

I  once  spent  a  Sunday  at  Oxford  at  the 
house  of  Dr.  Jowett,  the  master  of  Balliol 


R  OBER  T  BR  O  WNING.  63 

—  one  of  those  charming  Sundays  in  which 
he  used  to  welcome  the  presence  of  one 
or  two  congenial  guests.  Mr.  Browning 
was  on  that  Sunday  the  only  other  guest 
staying  with  Dr.  Jowett,  and  I  had  a  long 
walk  and  talk  with  him  that  afternoon.  The 
second  volume  of  The  Ring  and  tJie  Book 
had  just  come  out,  and  something  turned 
our  conversation  in  the  direction  of  his 
poems,  of  which  he  did  not  often  speak 
voluntarily.  He  alluded  without  the  least 
bitterness  to  the  long  course  of  years  in 
which  his  works  were  doomed  to  something 
like  contemporary  oblivion,  during  which 
very  few  copies  indeed  of  them  were  sold, 
and  scarcely  one  of  them  attained  to  a 
second  edition.  I  said  something  about 
the  Browning  Society,  which  had  then  been 
recently  formed,  and  he  said  that  there 
were  many  who  professed  to  laugh  at  it, 
but  for  his  part  he  was  grateful  for  this 
and  every  other  indication  of  a  dawning 
recognition,  considering  the  dreary  time  of 
neglect  and  ignorant  insult  which  he  had 
been  doomed  to  undergo.  And  then  he 


64  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

told  me  the  story  which  he  also,  I  believe, 
told  to  others,  but  which  I  narrate  in  the 
form  in  which  he  told  it  to  me  that  Sunday 
afternoon. 

He  said  that  when  one  of  his  earlier  vol- 
umes came  out  —  I  think.  Bells  and  Pome- 
granates —  a  copy  fell  into  the  hands  of 
Mr.  John  Stuart  Mill,  who  was  then  at  the 
zenith  of  his  fame,  and  whose  literary  opin- 
ion was  accepted  as  oracular.  Mr.  J.  S. 
Mill  expressed  his  admiration  of  the  poems, 
and  of  the  originality  of  the  lessons  they 
contained ;  and  he  wrote  to  the  editor  of 
Tail's  Magazine,  then  one  of  the  leading 
literary  journals,  asking  if  he  might  review 
them  in  the  forthcoming  number.  The  edi- 
tor wrote  back  to  say  that  he  should  always 
esteem  it  an  honor  and  an  advantage  to  re- 
ceive a  review  from  the  pen  of  Mr.  J.  S. 
Mill,  but  unfortunately  he  could  not  insert 
a  review  of  Bells  and  Pomegranates,  as  it 
had  been  reviewed  in  the  last  number. 
Mr.  Browning  had  the  curiosity  to  look  at 
the  last  number  of  the  magazine,  and  there 
read  the  so-called  review.  It  was  as  fol- 


ROBERT  BROWNING.  Go 

lows:  ''Bells  and  Pomegranates^  by  Robert 
Browning :  Balderdash" * 

"  It  depended,  you  see,"  said  Mr.  Brown- 
ing, "  on  what  looked  like  the  merest  acci- 
dent, whether  the  work  of  a  new  or  as  yet 
almost  unknown  writer  should  receive  an 
appreciative  review  from  the  pen  of  the 
first  literary  and  philosophic  critic  of  his 
clay,  —  a  review  which  would  have  rendered 
him  most  powerful  help,  exactly  at  the  time 
when  it  was  most  needed,  —  or  whether 
he  should  only  receive  one  insolent  epithet 
from  some  nameless  nobody.  I  consider," 
he  added,  "  that  this  so-called  '  review  '  re- 
tarded any  recognition  of  me  by  twenty 
years'  delay." 

Mr.  Browning  wrote  very  little  prose,  but 
what  he  did  write  was  of  remarkable  quality. 
He  scarcely  ever,  under  any  circumstances, 
or  under  whatever  provocation,  wrote  to  the 
newspapers,  or  bestowed  the  smallest  notice 
or  complaint  upon  his  detractors  ;  but  I  shall 

1  Such  was  the  poet's  recollection  ;  the  exact  word,  however, 
may  not  have  been  "  Balderdash,"  but  something  equally  con- 
temptuous, and  possibly  the  reminiscence  was  a  little  blurred. 


GO  MEN  I  HA  VR  KNO  WN. 

always  remember  one  occasion  on  which  he 
did  so.  He  was  himself  unaware  that  his 
letter  had  appeared  in  print,  until  I  pointed 
it  out  to  him  in  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette.  An 
article  had  occurred  in  some  sapient,  and,  I 
believe,  provincial  journal,  entitled  "  Is  this 
Poetry?"  It  consisted  of  an  attempt  by 
some  incompetent  and  infallible  ignoramus 
to  show  that  Browning  was  not  a  poet  at 
all.  Wherever  there  are  mosquitoes  in  the 
air,  a  kind  friend,  as  W.  S.  Landor  said,  is 
always  on  the  alert  to  draw  the  curtain  and 
point  them  out.  Accordingly,  an  unknown 
correspondent  cut  out  this  precious  article 
and  sent  it  with  a  note  to  Mr.  Browning. 
I  saw  his  quite  inimitable  reply  in  the  Pall 
Mall ;  and  while  I  was  laughing  at  it  very 
heartily  at  the  Athenaeum,  I  saw  Mr.  Brown- 
ing himself  sitting  reading  not  far  off  in  an 
armchair.  Still  lau^hino-,  I  went  up  to  him, 

«:>  o  i 

and  said,  — 

"  Mr.    Brown  in  cr     I    congratulate    you    on 

o  «^>  J 

your  admirable  little  letter." 

"What  letter?"  he  asked  in  surprise. 
"  Your  letter  in  the  Pall  Mall" 


R OBER T  BRO  WNING.  67 

"  I  have  sent  no  letter  to  the  Paft  Mall" 
he  said. 

"Well,  come  and  see  it,"  I  said,  and  took 
him  up  to  the  board  on  which  the  journal 
was  hanging.  He  read  it  with  a  broad 
smile  on  his  face,  and  said,  "  My  correspon- 
dent must  have  sent  it  to  the  press,  but  I 
was  quite  unaware  that  he  meant  to  do  so." 
The  "  characteristic  and  trenchant "  reply 
had  been  copied  by  the  Pall  Mall  from  the 
Birmingham  Owl.  It  was  as  follows  :  — 

19  WARWICK  CRESCENT,  Feb.  10,   1887. 

DEAR  SIR,  —  I  am  quite  sure  you  mean  very 
kindly,  but  I  have  had  too  long  an  experience  of  the 
inability  of  the  human  goose  to  do  other  than  cackle 
when  benevolent,  and  hiss  when  malicious ;  and  no 
amount  of  goose  criticism  shall  make  me  lift  a  heel  at 
what  waddles  behind  it.  Believe  me,  dear  sir,  yours 
very  sincerely,  ROBERT  BROWNING. 

I  once  asked  him  what  he  did  in  answer 
to  the  numerous  requests  which  I  felt  sure 
he  must  receive  for  autographs. 

"  Oh,"  he  said,  "  I  always  send  my  auto- 
graph to  those  who  write  to  me  for  it." 

"What  do  you  do  when,  as  is  often  the 


68  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

case,  the  admirer  does  not  even  enclose  a 
stamped  envelope  ?  " 

"Oh,"  he  replied,  "I  always  send  the 
autograph  all  the  same  ;  but  then  I  do  not 
prepay  the  letter,  because,  if  he  thinks  my 
autograph  worth  writing  for,  he  will  probably 
not  think  it  dear  at  twopence!  " 

When  I  placed  the  Jubilee  Window  of 
Queen  Victoria's  reign  in  St.  Margaret's, 
Westminster,  I  asked  Mr.  Browning  to  write 
the  quatrain  under  it  for  me.  He  did  so; 
and  these  were  the  four  highly  characteris- 
tic lines, — 

Fifty  years'  flight!  wherein  should  he  rejoice 

Who  hailed  their  birth,  who  as  they  die  decays? 

This  :  —  England  echoes  his  attesting  voice  — 

Wondrous  and  well :  thanks,  Ancient  Thou  of  Days. 

The  very  quaintness  of  the  lines,  —  their 
characteristic  oddness  of  collocation,  as  in 
"Ancient  Thou  of  Days,"  -the  fact  that 
they  were  written  in  the  poet's  special  style 
of  what  his  critics  called  "  Brown  inofese, — 

o 

made  them  more  interesting  to  me  than  if 
they  had  been  smooth  and  commonplace. 
They  illustrate  the  cause  which  made  peo- 


K OBER T  BRO  WNfNG.  69 

pie  call  him  unintelligible  ;  namely,  that  his 
sentences  frequently  did  not  "  construe," 
but  required  some  long  subauditur  to  show 
their  dependence.  Thus,  in  these  lines,  the 
"  This  "  stands  so  completely  isolated  and  in- 
dependent that  it  must  be  taken  for  "This 
(is  the  reason  wherein  he  should  rejoice)  ;  " 
and  the  "Wondrous  and  well"  means  the 
highly  compressed  sentence,  "The  years 
have  been  fifty  wondrous  years,  and  have 
passed  well  for  England."  As  it  was,  how- 
ever, the  lines  when  published  were  received 
with  general  amusement,  and  elicited  a  silly 
and  sanguinary  parody  in  one  of  the  London 
newspapers.  I  do  not  suppose  that  he  ever 
saw  this  parody ;  nor  would  he  have  been 
vexed  about  it  if  he  had.  Yet  so  far  was  he 
from  beino-  careless  about  the  lines,  that  he 

o 

took  the  trouble  of  a  long  walk  to  St.  Mar- 
garet's to  see  if  they  were  correctly  punc- 
tuated on  the  brass  plate  underneath  the 
window.  He  found  that  the  enoraver  had 

o 

altered  a  comma,  and  requested  me  to  have 
it  at  once  corrected. 
And    here    let    me    add    that    this     is    the 


70  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

more  remarkable  because  Mr.  Browning 
clearly  did  not  understand  the  best  princi- 
ples of  punctuation  as  an  aid  to  lucidity. 
A  friend  is  said  to  have  pointed  out  that 
a  great  deal  of  Sordcllo  would  be  less  dif- 
ficult of  apprehension  if  it  were  differently 
punctuated  throughout;  and  it  has  been  said 
(but  I  cannot  vouch  for  the  fact)  that  the 
poet  adopted  his  friend's  punctuation  of 
many  passages,  and  so  made  the  poem 
more  easy  to  understand.  His  extraordi- 
nary method  of  ellipse  and  compression 
had  become  the  habit  of  a  life.  When  his 
Pauline  came  out,  some  critic  had  called 
it  "  wordy."  Being  resolute  and  earnest 
in  all  that  he  undertook,  and  thinking  that 
there  might  be  some  element  of  truth  in 

o 

the  criticism,  Mr.  Browning  set  himself  to 
correct  the  real  or  imaginary  fault;  and  to 
this  fact  is  due  some  at  least  of  the  pe- 
culiarities of  his  style. 

His    last    and    most    popular   book,   Aso- 
lando,  —  he   delighted    in   odd  titles   for   his 

O 

books,  and  generally  speaking  was  specially 
fond  of  everything  quaint  and  unusual, 


ROBERT  BROWNING.  71 

—  came  out  when  he  was  in  Italy.  He  was 
lying  on  what  proved,  alas  !  to  be  his  death- 
bed, after  a  brief  illness,  when  he  was  in- 
formed that  already -- after  a  very  short 
time — his  book  had  attained  to  a  third  edi- 
tion. This  was  a  most  uncommon  circum- 
stance in  the  history  of  his  writings.  "  How 
very  gratifying!"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  happy 
smile,  on  beincr  informed  of  it. 

«_> 

Shortly  afterwards  I  received  a  telegram 
from  his  son  from  the  Palazzo  Rezzonico 
at  Venice,  saying  that  "  Mr.  Robert  Brown- 
ing died  this  morning."  It  was  sudden  and 
wholly  unexpected  ;  for  in  the  lengthening  of 
the  allotted  term  of  life  which  has  become 
so  common  in  this  century,  he  could  not 
have  been  called  aged.  He  had  always 
enjoyed  excellent  health.  His  eye  was  not 
dim,  nor  his  natural  strength  abated  ;  and, 

o 

so  far  from  showing  any  signs  of  intellec- 
tual senility  or  mental  deterioration,  this  last 
volume  contains  some  of  his  most  vigorous 
and  popular  lyrics,  especially  that  forcible 
one  —  quite  in  his  own  peculiar  style  —  in 
which  he  speaks  of  himself  as  follows:- 


72  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

Oh,  to  love  so,  be  so  loved,  yet  so  mistaken  1 

What  had  I  on  earth  to  do 
With  the  slothful,  with  the  mawkish,  the  unmanly  ? 

Like  the  aimless,  helpless,  hopeless,  did  I   drivel 
-  Being  —  who  ? 

One  who  never  turned  his  back  but  inarched  breast 

forward, 

Never  doubted  clouds  would  break, 
Never    dreamed,    though    right    were    worsted,   wrong 

would  triumph, 

Held  we  fall  to  rise,  are  baffled  to  fight  better, 
Sleep  to  wake. 

What  could  I  do,  on  receiving  such  a 
message,  except  to  telegraph  back  to  his 
son  my  expression  of  sincere  sorrow  and 
sympathy,  and  to  add  exactly  what  I  felt : 
"The  world  is  poorer  for  his  loss"? 


tyrftto    fy 


•' 


H,  J'    fyH-fC  hf-f^C  ^ 


MATTHEW     ARNOLD. 


III. 

MATTHEW    ARNOLD. 

THERE  are  many  men  of  eminence  whom 
it  has  been  my  good  fortune  to  meet,  who, 
quite  apart  from  the  genius  which  enabled 
them  to  enforce  upon  their  generation  the 
great  lessons  of  science,  of  morality,  or  of 
religion,  were  men  whom  it  would  have  been 

o 

delightful  to  know  because  of  the  charm  and 

o 

geniality  of  their  bearing.  Genius  has  been 
defined  as  "  the  heart  of  childhood  taken  up 
and  matured  in  the  powers  of  manhood  ;  " 
and  this  childlike  or  boyish  element  has 
been  a  marked  characteristic  of  some  of  our 
distinguished  contemporaries. 

One  saw  it  in  Lord  Tennyson,  when  his 
shyness  with  strangers  wore  off;  its  winning 
freshness  was  very  noticeable  in  the  ani- 
mated bearing  of  Dean  Stanley  during  his 
happier  hours  ;  and  a  boyish  frankness  and 

73 


74  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

spirit  of  fun  added  a  constant  charm  to  the 
gayety  of  Mr.  Matthew  Arnold,  when  he 
could  throw  off  all  reserve,  and  knew  him- 
self to  be  amonir  friends.  If  he  were  in 

*r> 

the  midst  of  a  society  which  he  disliked  he 
naturally  did  not  care  to  unbend  ;  and  then 
he  might  have  been  described,  by  those 
who  knew  nothing  of  him,  as  supercilious 
and  unattractive.  But  among  those  who 
knew  and  loved  him,  and  amono'  whom  he 

o 

could  move  with  ease,  all  the  "  sweetness 
and  light  "  which  he  regarded  as  the  ideal 
of  demeanor,  came  out  ;  and  the  success  of 
any  party  of  which  he  was  a  member  was 
assured.  There  were  times  when  his  fun 
became  almost  boisterous ;  and  very  often 
the  quaint  and  unexpected  turns  of  a  wit 

which  was  enhanced   bv  his   delightful    per- 

j  &  i 

sonality  would  rouse  a  whole  company  to 
hearty  mirth. 

I  remember  one  day  when  a  guest  at  a 

dinner-party  asked  whether  Mr.  X ,  a 

very  refined  and  gentle  Harrow  master,  was 
not  a  Conservative. 

"X—     -  a  Conservative!"   he   exclaimed, 


MA  TTHE IV  ARNOLD.  75 

—  "  X a  Conservative  !  Why,  he  would 

strangle  the  last  king  in  the  bowels  of  the 
last  priest !  " 

To  those  who  knew  the  very  quiet -man- 
nered master  there  was  something  inde- 
scribably amusing  in  such  a  characterization. 

In  a  home  where  his  presence  was  as  a 
perpetual  sunbeam,  the  fact  that  his  affec- 
tions were  ever  "  true  to  the  kindred  points 
of  heaven  and  home"  was  a  constant  source 
of  animation  and  happiness.  The  quaint 
and  playful  raillery  with  which  he  would 
address  members  of  his  family,  telling  them 
that  they  "  had  all  his  sweetness  and  none 
of  his  conceit,"  or  "  all  his  graces  and  none 

£5 

of  his  airs,"  illustrated  the  abandon  of  his 
home  affections,  and  all  the  more  because 
he  would  awaken  their  extreme  mirth  by  the 
gravity  of  countenance  —  which  he  vainly 
endeavored  to  retain — with  which  he  as- 
sured them  that,  like  the  wife  of  the  famous 
French  duke,  "  they  had  embittered  his  ex- 
istence, and  would  precipitate  his  end."  I 
never  knew  a  man  whose  heart  was  more 
absorbed  by  home  affections.  His  children 


7G  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO IVN. 

were  devoted  to  him,  and  they  were  not 
in  the  least  afraid  to  repay  him  with  banter 
similar  to  his  own.  One  day,  after  ofazin<r 

J  o  ^ 

at  him,  as  he  helped  himself  to  some  deli- 
cacy, a  child  exclaimed  to  him,  "  Ouelle 
coch^ronnerie !  "  He  was  highly  amused 
at  the  apostrophe,  and  said  that  though 
the  word  had  no  existence,  it  was  so  ofood 

o 

that  it  certainly  ougJit  to  have  ! 

I   knew  him  for  many  years  in  two  of  his 
homes — Bvron  House  at  Harrow,  where  he 

j 

lived  for  some  time  while  his  boys  were  at 
the  great  school  ;  and  Pain's  Hill  Cottage, 
on  the  river  Mole,  not  far  from  Cobham. 
At  both  homes  the  pets  whom  his  muse 
rendered  so  famous  were  prominent  mem- 
bers of  the  household,  and  were  known 
to  all  his  guests  —  the  cat  "Atossa;"  the 
dachshund  "  Geist,"  who  grew  to  extreme 
old  age  ;  and  the  canary  "  Matthias,"  beside 
whose  cage  I  have  seen  "Atossa"  reclining 
just  as  the  poet  describes  the  scene  in  Poor 
Matthias.  ''Atossa"  was  a  very  beautiful, 
but  far  from  amiable,  Persian  cat.  When 
I  first  made  advances  of  friendship  at  a 


MA  TTHE  W  ARNOLD.  77 

dinner-party  at  Byron  House  she  rewarded 
me  by  a  snarl  and  a  scratch  —  for  which  I 
thought  her  fond  and  distinguished  master 
was  too  impenitent. 

Byron  House  was  so  called  because  Byron 
lived  there  for  a  time  when  he  was  a  Harrow 
boy.  It  had  a  pleasant  garden,  and  Mr. 
Arnold  and  his  family  enjoyed  their  resi- 
dence there  in  the  midst  of  the  brightness 
and  movement  of  a  great  public  school  and 
its  surroundinofs.  It  was  when  he  contem- 

o 

plated  settling  for  a  time  at  Harrow,  for 
purposes  of  education,  that  I  first  corre- 
sponded with  him.  He  had  just  lost  one 
dear  child  ;  but  he  had  three  boys  and 
two  girls.  Two  of  the  boys  were^  my  pu- 
pils—  the  eldest,  named  Thomas,  and  the 
youngest,  Richard,  who  survives  him. 

Thomas,  named  after  his  famous  grand- 
father, Dr.  Arnold,  had  inherited  the  weak- 
ness of  heart  known  as  cyanosis,  which 
doomed  him  to  an  early  grave.  He  was  a 
boy  of  the  most  sweet  and  charming  charac- 
ter, over  whose  boyhood  played  the  menace 
of  death,  with  no  other  effect  than  to  solem- 


78  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

nize  him  without  in  the  least  quenching  his 
natural  cheerfulness.  It  was  a  somewhat 
perilous  experiment  to  send  him  to  a  great 
public  school ;  for  if  any  boy  had  but  "  bon- 
neted "  him,  —  as  boys  sometimes  do  in  fun, 
-  or  given  him  any  sudden  shock,  it  might 
have  caused  very  speedy  death.  To  the 
great  credit  of  the  Harrow  boys  be  it  said 
that,  knowing  his  weakness,  they  kept  him 
as  safe  among  them  as  he  would  have  been 
in  his  own  home,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that 
he  took,  and  sometimes  expressed,  a  more 
serious  view  of  daily  obligations  than  boys 
usually  do.  Tommy  had  a  very  beautiful 
voice  ;  and  very  shortly  before  his  death  he 
sang  at  the  annual  school  concert  the  pretty 
sonor  "  Little  black  things,  crood-nirrht,  oroocl- 

O  *^  «^  "         Cj  <j 

night  !  "  in  a  way  which  charmed  all  who 
heard  him.  He  went  to  Fox  Howe  for  his 
holiday,  had  a  fall  from  his  pony,  which  dis- 
turbed his  heart,  and  came  back  to  Harrow, 
only  to  die  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  to  the 
deep  grief  of  his  loving  parents.  The  let- 
ter is  lying  before  me  in  which  Mr.  Arnold 
invited  me  to  go  and  see  him  as  he  lay  in 


MA  TTHR  W  ARNOLD.  79 

the  sweet  beauty  and  peacefulness  of  early 
death. 

The  second  boy  —  Trevennen  —  a  very 
fine,  handsome  lad,  also  died  rather  sud- 
denly, and  most  unexpectedly,  at  Harrow, 
probably  from  suppressed  erysipelas,  caused 
(it  was  believed)  by  running  a  race  in  his 
stockings  on  the  damp  ground. 

It  was  a  great  pleasure  to  Mr.  Arnold 
and  his  family  that,  for  some  years,  at  Har- 
row, a  young  Italian  prince  —  the  Duke  of 
Genoa  —  was  an  inmate  of  their  house.  He 
was  sent  to  Harrow  about  the  age  of  fifteen, 
and  was  also  in  my  pupil  room.  He  was, 
I  believe,  the  first  "  prince  of  the  blood  " 
being  a  grandson  of  John,  King  of  Saxony, 
and  nephew  of  Victor  Emmanuel,  King  of 
Italy  —  who  was  ever  sent  to  an  English 
public  school.  When  he  first  came  he  knew 
very  little  English,  and  used  to  make  the 
boys  laugh  good-humoredly — for  he  was 
very  popular  among  them  —  by  his  quaint 
expressions.  Until  he  came  he  had  been 
surrounded  by  all  the 

Pomp,  entourage,  worldly  circumstance 


80  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

of  royalty,  with  servants  in  constant  attend- 
ance. At  Harrow  not  the  slightest  differ- 
ence was  made  between  him  and  any  other 
boy ;  and  when  he  left  he  was  an  eager 
football  player,  and  was  in  one  of  the 
second  elevens.  He  was  a  boy  of  fine  and 
generous  character,  and  the  Arnolds  were 
deeply  attached  to  him.  During  a  great 
part  of  the  time  when  he  was  in  my  pupil 
room  he  was  King  Of  Spain.  The  crown 
was  offered  him  ;  and  though  he  was  most 
averse  to  accepting  it,  he  did  so  (I  believe) 
at  the  wish  of  his  grandfather,  his  mother 
the  Princess  Elizabeth  of  Saxony,  and  his 
uncle,  King  Victor  Emmanuel.  He  could 
not  act  for  himself,  for  he  was  only  fifteen 
or  sixteen  ;  but  as  soon  as  he  reached  the 
aofe  of  eighteen,  and  while  he  was  still  a 

o  o 

Harrow  boy,  he  resigned  the  offered  throne, 
because  then  he  came  legally  of  age,  and 
had  a  right  to  choose  for  himself.  The 

o 

crown  was  accepted  by  his  first  cousin,  the 
Duke  of  Aosta,  who,  after  a  brief  and  not 
too  happy  experience  of  Spanish  royalty, 
was  glad  to  "  abdicate."  I  still  possess  Mr. 


.  10 


7  ?. 

>, 


J 


f 


MA  TTHE IV  ARNOLD.  81 

Arnold's  letter  in  which  he  mentions  the 
warm  satisfaction  felt  by  the  Italian  royal 
family  for  all  that  Harrow  had  clone  for 
this  young"  prince,  who  was  much  attached 
to  the  Arnolds,  and  now  occupies  one  of 
the  most  distinguished  posts  in  the  Italian 
navy. 

From  the  time  that  I  became  intimate 
with  Mr.  Matthew  Arnold  at  Harrow,  I  con- 
stantly saw  him,  both  at  his  house  or  my 
own,  and  at  the  Athenaeum  Club,  where 
he  was  one  of  the  most  popular  and  best- 
known  members.  When  I  was  head  master 
at  Marlborough  he  paid  us  a  visit  with 
some  of  his  family.  Dean  Stanley  was  our 
guest  at  the  same  time.  Both  of  them 
spoke  delightfully  at  Marlborougii  at  a  great 
supper,  and  wrote  most  kindly  about  it 
afterwards  in  letters  which  are  now  in  print 
among  their  memorials.  I  have  a  bundle 
of  Mr.  Arnold's  letters,  all  of  which  over- 
flow with  kindness  ;  but  most  of  them  are 
of  too  private  and  personal  a  character  to 
print. 

Valuable  as  were   Matthew  Arnold's   con- 


MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

tributions  to  literature,  high  as  his  rank  will 
always  be  among  English  poets,  exquisite 
as  was  both  his  prose  and  verse,  he,  like 
Mr.  Browning,  was  for  many  years  so  far 
unrecognized  that  his  contributions  to  litera- 
ture added  little  or  nothing  to  his  income. 
When  he  was  at  Harrow  he  was  surcharged 
on  the  income-tax,  and  appealed  to  the  com- 
missioners, who  were  mostly  local  trades- 
men and  others.  He  told  them  that  in  his 
tax-returns  he  had  stated  his  income  at 
,£1,000  a  year,  which  was,  I  believe,  the  ut- 
most which  he  ever  received  from  his  post 
of  inspector  of  schools,  and  asked  why 
they  had  charged  him  the  tax  on  a  larger 
income. 

"Oh,  but,  Mr.  Arnold,  you  are  a  writer," 
said  the  commissioners. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  said,  in  his  amusing 
tone,  "  you  see  before  you  that  unfortunate 
being,  an  unpopular  author!  My  books,  so 
far,  have  not  added  to  my  income." 

It  was  not  till  later  years  that  his  writings 
materially  increased  his  somewhat  narrow 
resources.  Like  Mr.  Browning,  he  had  long 


MA  TTHE  W  ARNOLD.  83 

to  wait,  and  his  prose  writings  were  more 
remunerative  than  his  poems. 

Besides  the  permanent  fame  which  Mr. 
Arnold  has  won  as  an  exquisite  poet,  he 
rendered  great  services  both  to  literature 
and  education.  Many  must  have  felt  that 
it  was  hardly  creditable  to  England  that 
one  of  her  illustrious  sons,  in  spite  of  his 
permanently  valuable  Reports  on  Foreign 
Educational  Systems,  received  little  or  no 
official  promotion  of  any  kind  —  no  title, 
no  distinction,  no  public  literary  recogni- 
tion from  the  government,  though  their  re- 
wards were  bestowed  on  far  inferior  men. 

When  I  was  rector  of  St.  Margaret's,  West- 

o 

minster,  he  was  inspector  of  my  National 
Schools.  It  was  always  delightful  to  see 
and  hear  him  as  he  examined  the  little  chil- 
dren —  many  of  them  among  the  poorest  of 
the  poor — in  grammar  or  arithmetic;  or 
looked  critically  at  the  needle-work  done 
by  the  little  Annes  and  Mary  Janes  of  the 
back  streets.  He  manifested  a  true  dignity 
by  the  uncomplaining  faithfulness  and  regu- 
larity with  which,  for  many  long  years,  he 


84  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO IVN. 

discharged  the  comparatively  humble  rou- 
tine duties  of  an  inspector,  which  must 
have  often  seemed  very  uncongenial,  and 
from  which  he  ought  to  have  been  ex- 
empted by  promotion,  or  some  form  of 
national  gratitude.  He  used  sometimes  to 
say,  at  gatherings  where  he  was  received 
with  the  loudest  applause,  "  Gentlemen, 
you  see  before  you  a  humble  Inspector  of 
Schools." 

But  though  he  can  hardly  have  failed  to 
feel  at  times  that  he  was  in  the  position  of 
a  racehorse  set  to  draw  a  market-cart,  he 
continued  to  discharge  the  modest  require- 
ments of  his  position  with  undiminished 
dignity  and  conscientious  cheerfulness.  His 
genuine  kindness  and  consiclerateness,  both 
to  teacher  and  pupils,  made  him  one  of  the 
most  beloved  of  inspectors  ;  and  when,  at 
last,  his  term  of  service  was  ended,  he  re- 
ceived the  expression  of  hearty  and  unani- 
mous gratitude  from  the  whole  body  ol 
masters  and  mistresses  with  whom  he  had 
had  to  do.  The  buoyant  freshness  and  viva- 
city of  his  earlier  prose  writings  show  how 


MA  TTHE  W  ARNOLD.  85 

little  he  allowed  any  natural  disappointment 
to  weigh  upon  his  spirits  ;  and  meanwhile 
he  received,  from  every  literary  and  high 
social  circle  in  which  he  moved,  the  recog- 
nition which  had  not  come  to  him  in  any 
large  measure  from  his  official  superiors. 

Some  of  the  views  in  his  writings  upon 
religious  subjects  were  startling  to  orthodox 
Churchmen  ;  but  in  spite  of  this  he  re- 
mained on  terms  of  cordial  friendship  with 
many  of  the  bishops  and  leading  clergy, 
as  well  as  with  the  most  eminent  Noncon- 
formists. Whatever  may  have  been  their 
doctrinal  divergences  from  his  opinions, 
they  saw  that  he  wrote  (with  one  unfortu- 
nate exception,  in  which,  however,  his  ap- 
parent flippancy  had  not  been  intentional) 
in  a  serious,  sincere,  and  deeply  reverent 
spirit.  There  was  much  to  learn  even  from 
his  writings  on  sacred  subjects,  and  to  the 
last  he  remained  a  regular  and  reverent 

o 

attendant  at  church  and  at  the  Holy  Com- 
munion. 

He  called  on  us  almost  immediately  after 
his  return  from  his  American  tour,  and  made 


80  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

us  laugh  heartily  at  his  experiences.  He 
was  induced  to(  visit  the  United  States, 
partly  by  the  great  popularity  of  his  writings 
in  the  Western  world,  and  by  the  fact  that 
he  had  many  warm  friends  across  the  At- 
lantic ;  but  also  because  his  income  left  but 
a  very  narrow  margin  for  his  necessary  ex- 
penses, and  it  became  a  matter  of  impor- 
tance to  him  that  he  should  raise  a  certain 
sum  by  lectures.  I  think  that  on  the  whole 
he  enjoyed  his  American  tour,  but  it  re- 
quired his  genial  joyousness  to  endure  some 
of  the  very  free  criticisms  passed  upon  him 
by  the  American  journalists.  Beautiful  as 
was  the  substance  of  his  lectures,  his  de- 
livery, never  telling,  was  but  little  suited 
to  a  nation  in  which  every  boy  in  the  schools 
is  trained  for  years  in  rhetorical  deliver)"  and 
the  principles  of  elocution.  I  will  mention 
some  of  his  anecdotes.  His  first  lecture  was 
delivered  at  New  York,  and  many  had  paid 
large  fees  for  good  places.  But  before  he 
had  spoken  long  he  was  met  by  cries  of 
"  Speak  up,  Mr.  Arnold  !  "  "  We  cannot 
hear  you,  Mr.  Arnold  !"  and  many  (as  is  not 


MA  TTHE  W  ARNOLD.  87 

uncommon  in  America)  left  the  hall  while 
he  was  speaking. 

"  Next  morning,"  he  said,  "  a  professor  of 
elocution  called  on  me,  and  remarked,  '  This 
will  never  do,  Mr.  Arnold.  People  buy 
tickets  to  come  and  hear  you,  but  you  are 
very  inaudible.  Let  me  give  you  a  lesson.' 
I  gratefully  accepted  the  kind  offer,  and 
we  went  to  the  hall  before  the  delivery  of 
the  second  lecture.  The  elocution  professor 
gave  me  some  excellent  hints,  and  I  was 
much  better  heard  at  subsequent  lectures. 
At  the  hall  I  saw  a  sort  of  music-stand, 
which  was  just  the  right  height  for  me  ;  and 
as  the  sight  of  one  of  my  eyes  is  stronger 
than  the  other,  I  used  to  place  it  at  my 
right,  read  a  sentence,  and  then  raise  my 
head  as  I  delivered  it.  But  one  morning 
afterwards  there  appeared  in  a  Detroit  paper 
a  criticism  in  which  was  the  remark,  'As  for 
Mr.  Arnold's  manner,  it  reminds  us  of  an 
elderly  parrot  pecking  at  a  trellis  ! ' 

These,  and  all  similar  criticisms,  however 
frank,  he  took  with  absolutely  imperturbable 
good-humor.  He  used  to  travel  about  the 


88  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

United  States  to  deliver  his  lectures,  with 
Mrs.  Arnold,  his  two  daughters,  and  the 
agent,  whom  he  elegantly  called  his  "  Im- 
presario'' They  usually  had  free  railway 
tickets  presented  to  them ;  and  when  the 
ticket-collector  in  the  train  was  told  this,  he 
remarked,  in  a  condescending  tone,  "  Oh, 
the  Arnold  troupe,  I  suppose!" — "Just  as 
if  we  were  a  travelling  circus !  "  said  Mr. 
Arnold,  with  a  hearty  laugh. 

Among  other  places,  he  visited  Chicago. 
The  next  morning  there  was  an  article  in 
one  of  the  newspapers  beginning,  "  We 
have  seen  him  ;  he  is  an  elderly  gentleman, 
who  parts  his  hair  in  the  middle,  with  su- 
percilious manners,  and  ill-fitting  clothes!" 
Many  might  have  been  annoyed  by  such 
liberties.  To  Mr.  Arnold  they  only  caused 
extreme  amusement,  as  he  narrated  them  to 
his  friends. 

He  also  told  me,  with  much  relish,  the 
story  of  a  trick  played  by  a  New  York 
paper  on  a  Chicago  paper,  which  (it  was 
said)  sometimes  copied,  without  acknowledg- 
ment, its  foreign  telegrams.  The  New  York 


MATTHEW  ARNOLD.  89 

paper  inserted  a  clever  letter,  purporting  to 
have  been  written  by  Mr.  Arnold,  and  com- 
menting not  quite  favorably  on  the  city  of 
Chicago.  It  began  :  "At  Chicago  my  host 
was  an  artist  in  desiccated  pork ! " 

The  Chicago  papers  took  the  letter  for 
genuine,  and  exploded  into  vehement  vitu- 
peration, which  was  perhaps  excusable,  for 
they  had  received  Mr.  Arnold  with  the 
customary  warmth  and  hospitality  of  our 
Transatlantic  brethren.  As  soon  as  Mr.  Ar- 
nold heard  it,  he  telegraphed  to  Chicago  to 
say  that  the  letter  was  a  forgery  from  be- 
ginning to  end.  It  was  then,  however,  too 
late  to  unsay  the  uncivil  remarks  which  they 
had  heaped  on  the  unoffending  head  of  their 
distinguished  guest ;  and  when  I  visited  Chi- 
cago the  next  year  I  found  a  certain  sore- 
ness still  remaining,  which  made  him  less 

o 

popular  there  than  he  was  in  many  of  the 
American  cities. 

Almost  the  last,  if  not  quite  the  last, 
public  appearance  of  Mr.  Arnold  was  made 
at  my  request.  My  friend  and  his  friend, 
Mr.  George  \V.  Chilcls  of  Philadelphia,  had, 


90  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  \VN. 

with  characteristic  munificence,  presented  St. 
Margaret's,  Westminster,  with  a  splendid 
memorial  window  in  honor  of  John  Milton. 
Milton  was  more  closely  connected  with  St. 
Margaret's  than  any  other  church,  as  he  re- 
sided near  it  for  many  years.  His  banns 
are  recorded  in  its  register,  which  also  re- 
tain entries  of  the  burial  of  his  best-loved 
wife,  Catherine  Woodcock,  —  "  my  late-es- 
poused saint, "--and  of  the  infant  daughter 
at  whose  birth  she  died.  When  this  window 
was  unveiled,  I  asked  Mr.  Arnold  to  come 
and  read  a  paper  on  Milton  in  the  vestry, 
in  the  presence  of  a  small  but  distinguished 
gathering  of  literary  men,  among  whom 
were  Lord  Lytton,  Mr.  Browning,  and  Mr. 
Lecky.  As  an  inducement,  I  told  him  that, 
as  I  knew  him  to  be,  like  myself,  a  de- 
voted admirer  of  Milton,  he  could  not  fail 
to  write  something  valuable  and  interesting, 

£>  c!> 

and    he    miHit    send    it    to    some   American 

O 

magazine.      He    consented,  with    his    invari- 

o 

able  kindness,  and  wrote  the  charming  paper 
on  Milton  which  has  since  been  published. 
It  \vas,  I  believe,  the  last  thing  he  wrote. 


MATTHEW  ARNOLD.  91 

Not  long  after,  I  met  him  at  the  Athenaeum, 
and  after  asking  me  with  assumed  despair, 
"What  on  earth  am  I  to  do  with  that  demon 
-  ?  "  (mentioning  one  of  the  too  numer- 
ous strangers  who  worried  him,  as  they 
worry  all  public  men,  with  their  obtrusive- 
ness),  he  rubbed  his  hands  in  the  highest 
spirits,  and  asked,  "What  do  you  think  the 
American  editor  sent  me  for  that  little  pa- 
per which  I  read  for  you  at  St.  Margaret's  ? 
They  gave  me  no  less  than  fifty  pounds!  " 

The  next  clay  he  went  with  Mrs.  Arnold 
to  meet  his  beloved  daughter  Mrs.  Whit- 
ridcre,  who  had  married  an  American  gentle- 

r*>  £> 

man  living  in  New  York,  and  who  was  on 
her  way  home  with  her  child,  on  her  annual 
visit  to  England.  On  that  very  evening, 
I  believe,  he  took  the  little  jump  over  a 
hedge  which,  though  at  the  moment  it  did 
not  seem  to  have  done  him  much  harm, 
disturbed  the  weak  action  of  his  heart.  The 
next  morning  -  -  to  the  grief  of  all  who 
knew  him  and  of  all  who  love  the  purest 
and  most  refined  forms  of  English  litera- 
ture —  he  was  dead. 


92  JlfEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

I  attended  his  funeral  in  the  sweet  coun- 
try churchyard  of  Laleham,  where  he  had 
desired  to  be  buried  with  his  beloved  ones  ; 
and  I  read  at  the  service  that  noble  chap- 
ter of  the  Epistle  to  the  Corinthians,  which 
stands,  as  it  were,  as  a  Magna  Charta  of 
man's  hopes  of  immortality.  I  could  not 
but  think,  as  I  went  sadly  home,  that  never 
again  could  I  know  so  intimately  a  writer 
so  brilliant  and  so  distinguished,  or  a  man 
more  deeply  loved  by  those  who  really  rec- 
ognized the  high  and  lovely  characteristics 
of  his  great  gifts  and  his  unique  personality. 
He  was  an  admirable  specimen  ol  a  perfect 
English  gentleman,  —  a  man  of  fine  genius, 
of  delightful  bearing,  of  stainless  integrity, 
and  of  a  genuinely  kind  and  loving  heart. 


Arthur  Penrhyn    Stanley. 


IV. 
PROFESSOR  MAURICE  AND  DEAN  STANLEY. 

I  HAVE  already  said  that  I  account  it  among 
the  richest  outward  blessings  of  a  life  which 
has,  by  God's  blessing,  been  a  very  happy 
one,  that  I  have  enjoyed  the  personal  ac- 
quaintance —  in  not  a  few  cases  the  personal 
friendship  —  of  most  of  those  great  writers, 
artists,  and  men  of  science  whose  names  will 
shine  out  like  stars  in  the  annals  of  the  rei^n 

c> 

of  our  beloved  Queen. 

Among  these  have  been  ecclesiastics  of 
every  school  of  thought  in  the  churches  of 
England  and  America,  and  some  of  the  lead- 
ing members  of  other  'religious  communions. 
Several  of  them  —  like  the  Master  of  Balliol, 
Bishop  Colenso,  Bishop  Phillips  Brooks,  Pro- 
fessor Maurice,  and  Dean  Stanley  —  were 
ecclesiastics  whose  views  on  many  points  dif- 
fered widely  from  those  of  their  brethren. 

93 


94  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNOWN. 

It  is  a  most  happy  thing-  for  the  Church  of 
England  —  it  is  indeed  one  of  the  strongest 
elements  of  her  influence  and  vitality  —  that 
the  clergy  are  not  all  like  mere  figures  which 
follow  a  decimal  point,  and  never  rise  to  the 
dignity  of  a  unit.  They  are  not  stereotyped 
into  the  nullity  of  a  purely  verbal  and  me- 
chanical orthodoxy.  They  are  not  all  steeped 
in  "  the  deep  slumber  of  decided  opinions." 
They  do  not  all  humbly  accept  whole  series 
of  artificial  dogmas  and  observances  of  which 
many  are  the  mere  accretions  of  unauthor- 
ized tradition,  which  have  crystallized  round 
the  nucleus  of  Catholic  belief.  The  Church 
of  England  would  soon,  to  use  the  words  of 
Milton,  "  sicken  into  a  muddy  pool  of  con- 
formity and  tradition,"  or,  in  the  still  more 
emphatic  plain-spokenness  of  our  Homily,  fall 
into  "  the  stinking  puddles  of  men's  tradi- 
tions," if  theological  acrimony  had  but  power 
in  proportion  to  its  unscrupulous  virulence. 
Most  happily  for  the  greatness  and  real  influ- 
ence of  our  Church,  there  have  always  been 
mountains  among  the  molehills,  and  forest 
trees  amid  the  dense  undergrowth  of  thistles. 


MA  URICE  AND  DEAN  STANLE  Y.       95 

Let  us  hope  that,  to  the  end  of  time, 
there  may  be  enough  men  among  our 
clergy  to  realize  that  truth  is  an  ever- 
streamino"  fountain,  not  a  motionless  lake 

o 

gleaming  with  the  iridescence  which  con- 
ceals corruption  —  men  who  believe  that 
there  is  a  continuous  revelation  to  earnest 
souls,  an  ever-broadening  light  from  heaven 
whereby  "  God  shows  all  things  in  the  slow 
history  of  their  ripening."  God  grant  us 
enough  men  to  resist  the  seductions  of 
promotion  and  popularity ;  to  flout  an  ef- 
feminate artificiality  ;  to  refuse  to  answer 
the  theological  world  according  to  its  idols ; 

O  & 

to  scorn  a  slavish  abnegation  of  the  supreme 
rights  of  reason  and  conscience  ;  boldly  to 
rebuke  vice,  and  patiently  to  suffer  for  the 
truth's  sake.  Such  men  are  the  prophets 
of  their  age  ;  and  it  is  their  lot,  as  it  is  the 
lot  of  all  the  truest  and  greatest  prophets, 
to  have  all  manner  of  evil  said  against 
them  falsely,  as  their  Master  had,  by  the 
"religious  authorities"  of  the  day  - 

By  fierce  lies  maddening  the  blind  multitude. 


90  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  \VN. 

Such  men  —  in  their  measure  —  were  the 
two  of  whom  I  shall  speak  in  this  chapter  — 
FREDERICK  DENISON  MAURICE,  and  ARTHUR 
PENRHYN  STANLEY.  Both  of  them  stood, 
for  the  most  part,  alone  among  their  clerical 
contemporaries.  As  Archbishop  Tait  was 
called,  by  way  of  a  disparagement  which 
was  his  highest  honor,  the  "  Archbishop  of 
the  Laity,"  so  Professor  Maurice  and  Dean 
Stanley  found  their  best  support  and  en- 
couragement in  their  sacred  and  noble  work, 
far  more  among  hosts  of  lay  friends,  who 
had  benefited  by  and  were  grateful  for  their 
teaching,  than  amonir  clerics,  whose!  news- 

o '  «^> 

papers  rarely  mentioned  them  without  abuse 
or  sneers.  To  a  great  extent  it  was  their 
lot  to  sit  — 

Heedless  of  neglect  and  scorn. 
Till,  their  long  task  completed,  they  had  risen 
And  left  us,  never  to  return,  and  all 
Rushed  in  to  peer  and  praise  when  all  was  vain. 

In  the  habitual  falsification  to  which  ec- 
clesiastical history  seems  specially  liable,  it 
may  now  be  pretended  that  this  was  not 
the  case ;  for  men  soon  begin  to  build  the 


MA  URICE  AND  DEAN  STANLE  Y.       97 

tombs  of  the  prophets  whom  their  fathers 
slew.  Nevertheless,  it  was  so.  Maurice 
was  driven  from  his  professorship  at  King's 
College,  and  was  anathematized  for  years, 
so  that  no  new  "evangelical"  paper  could 
bid  for  popularity  without  the  sauce  piquantc 
of  abuse  of  him  in  one  of  those  "smart" 
articles  in  which  all  base  minds  delight. 
On  Dean  Stanley's  deathbed  I  saw  lying  a 
bitterly  contemptuous  attack  on  his  charm- 
ing and  most  useful  Christian  Institutions. 
I  could  only  hope  that  he  had  not  read  it 
at  all  ;  or,  at  any  rate,  not  until  the  gall  and 
wormwood  of  the  anonymous  reviewer  be- 
came to  him  a  matter  of  utter  indifference, 
and  the  serpent  hiss  of  ecclesiastical  hatred  as 
idle  as  the  wind  which  blows  over  a  crave. 

o> 

But  one  instance  of  party  malice  is  worth 
gibbeting  as  a  specimen  of  what  the  malig- 
nity of  "  religious  "  newspapers  can  achieve. 
The  Dean  had  crone  down  to  Bedford  to 

O 

unveil  the  statue  of  John  Bunyan,  and  had 
given  one  of  his  large,  loving,  and  delightful 
addresses  on  the  immortal  Baptist  tinker  to 
whom  we  owe  the  Pilgrim' s  Progress.  The 


98  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO IVN. 

account  of  this  event,  given  in  a  "leading" 
Ritualistic  newspaper,  was  to  the  following 
effect :  - 

"  A  statue  has  been  erected  to  a  Nonconformist 
writer  at  Bedford.  Of  course  the  person  invited  to  un- 
veil it  was  the  inevitable  Dean  of  Westminster.  All 
sorts  of  persons  have  statues  erected  to  them  in  these 
days.  There  is  a  personage,  undoubtedly  powerful  and 
influential,  to  whom  we  quite  expect  soon  to  hear  that 
a  statue  has  been  erected.  [Here  followed  an  elabo- 
rate description  of  the  Devi/J\  When  the  statue  to  this 
personage  is  finished,  we  are  quite  sure  tliat  the  fittest  per- 
son to  unveil  it  will  be  the  Dean  of  Westminster." 

Is  this  reptilian  criticism,  \vhich  is  exceed- 
ingly common,  the  sort  of  courtesy  which 
will  make  the  nation  humbly  accept  the  dic- 
tation of  priests,  or  look  up  to  them  as  ex- 
amples of  "  meekness  and  lowliness  of  heart "  ? 

I  first  learnt  to  know,  to  honor,  and  to 
love  F.  D.  Maurice,  when,  as  a  boy  of  six- 
teen, I  went  to  King's  College,  London.  He 
was  then  Professor  of  History  and  Literature, 
and  lectured  to  us  twice  a  week.  We  were 
supposed  to  take  notes  of  his  lectures,  and 
were  examined  on  the  subjects  of  them  at 
the  end  of  the  term.  I  never  learnt  short- 


FREDERICK     D.    MAURICE. 


MA  URICE  AND  DEAN  STANLE  Y.       99 

hand  ;  but  the  desire  to  profit  by  the  lecture 
system,  which  was  the  main  method  of  teach- 
ing" at  King's  College,  made  me  so  far  a 
"  tachygraph "  that  I  could  with  ease  take 
down  everything  that  was  essential  in  the 
lectures  of  Professor  Brewer,  Professor  Mau- 
rice, and  Dr.  Jelf.  Maurice's  lectures  were 
"  caviare  to  the  general."  Many  of  the  "  stu- 
dents," as  we  were  called,  cared  nothing  for 
them,  and  were  much  more  impressed  by  the 
lectures  of  his  assistant,  which  were  full  of 
facts.  But  those  of  us  who  had  any  sense  of 
reverence,  or  any  insight  into  genius  and 
character,  felt  that  we  were  in  the  presence 
of  a  great  and  noble  man,  and  were  proud  to 
be  under  his  instruction.  His  lectures  were 
meant  to  deal  rather  with  the  meaning  and 
the  philosophy  of  history  than  with  those  de- 
tails which  he  knew  that  we  could  derive 
from  any  ordinary  handbook.  Certainly,  his 
lectures  were  a  strong  intellectual  stimulus 
to  those  of  us  who  were  at  all  capable  of 
rightly  apprehending  them. 

A  witty  youth  wrote  a  parody  on  one  of 
them,   which   began,  "  The    fifteenth  century 


100  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

was  preceded  by  the  fourteenth,  and  was  in 
turn  succeeded  by  the  sixteenth.  This  is  a 
most  deep,  important,  and  memorable  fact," 
etc. ;  but  even  this  fellow  was  one  who  had 
a  real  admiration  for  the  teacher  whom, 
though  he  was  only  one  of  a  body  of  able 
men,  we  regarded  as  the  most  eminent 

o 

member  of  the  teaching  staff.  This  impres- 
sion was  deepened  in  us  by  the  Rev.  E.  H. 
Plumptre,  afterwards  Dean  of  Wells,  with 
whom  from  those  boyish  clays  I  began  a  life- 
long friendship.  He  was  then  the  chaplain 
of  the  college.  He  became  Maurice's 
brother-in-law,  and  looked  up  to  him,  and 
taught  us  to  look  up  to  him,  with  the  deep- 
est reverence. 

The  classes  were  attended  by  some  ninety 
or  a  hundred  students,  whom  it  was  the 
custom  of  the  place  to  regard  and  tr^at  as 
"  University  men,"  though  so  many  of  us 
were  but  boys.  Every  one  was  addressed 
as  "  Mr.  ; "  and  as  we  were  all  living  at 
our  respective  homes,  only  those  of  us  who 
formed  friendships  among  ourselves  knew 
anything  about  one  another.  A  certain 


MA  URICE  AND  DEAN  STANLE  Y.     101 

number  were  of  course  the  merest  Philis- 
tines, who  neither  understood  the  lectures 
nor  cared  for  them  in  the  slio-htest  decree  ; 

£>  O 

and  some,  of  yet  coarser  grain,  had  not 
the  ordinary  manners  to  respect  the  lec- 
turer or  their  fellow-students. 

These  youths  often  behaved  execrably. 
Maurice  did  not  know  most  of  them  even 
by  name,  as  he  saw  them  only  in  the  lecture- 
room  ;  and  as  none  of  the  ordinary  public 
school  discipline  existed,  and  any  punish- 
ment short  of  expulsion  was  unknown,  he 
had  no  means  of  controlling  them.  That 

o 

power  of  discipline  which  many  seem  to 
possess  as  a  natural  gift  was  not  his ;  and 
as  we  "students"  were  not  a  homogeneous 
body,  living  under  one  roof,  but  a  conglom- 
eration of  separate  atoms  without  a  particle 
of  authority  over  one  another,  we  could  not 
coerce  the  boors  into  a  better  demeanor. 

At  last,  however,  one  "  man  "  was  in  some 
way  identified,  and  Dr.  Jelf  brought  him  into 
the  lecture-room  and  made  him  apologize. 
Even  this  was  not  effectual.  On  one  oc- 
casion things  came  to  a  climax.  Some  brain- 


102  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNOWN. 

less  youth  had  concealed  himself  under  the 
platform  on  which  the  seats  rose  tier  above 
tier;  and,  as  the  lecture  proceeded,  he  em- 
phasized its  periods,  unseen,  by  tapping  \vith 
a  stick  on  the  floor,  giving  very  pronounced 
raps  when  there  was  any  sentence  peculiarly 
solemn  and  eloquent.  This  was  too  much 
for  our  equanimity.  I  never  knew  the 
"  man's  "  name  ;  but  I  joined  in  a  memorial 
of  sympathy  to  Maurice,  in  which  we  ex- 
pressed our  disgust  at  such  ill-bred  barba- 
rism, and  offered  our  best  services  to  put 
an  end  to  it  thereafter.  From  this  time 
the  disorder  ceased. 

Maurice's  literary  lectures  were  even  more 
stimulating  and  delightful  than  his  histori- 
cal. He  would  sometimes  make  us  read, 
each  in  turn,  the  main  parts  of  a  play  of 
Shakespeare,  criticising  as  he  went  along. 
He  would  sometimes  give  us  a  passage  of 
some  classic  author  to  translate  into  verse, 
and  then,  without  mentioning  our  names, 
would  most  kindly,  yet  incisively,  criticise 
the  merits  and  defects  of  our  productions. 
Without  being  able  to  recall  special  views, 


MA  URICE  AND  DEAN  STANLE  Y.     10.3 

I  remember  the  sort  of  literary  impulse 
which  he  gave  us ;  and  others  must  have 
profited  by  it  even  more  than  I,  for  in 
those  classes,  among  others  who  were  my 
friends  and  contemporaries,  were  Mr.  Leslie 
Stephen,  Mr.  W.  Stebbing,  the  late  Mr. 
Henry  Kingsley,  Mr.  Clement  Swanston, 
Professor  Bensley,  Mr.  Edward  Dicey,  and 
Sir  Edwin  Arnold. 

The  lecture  I  best  remember  was  one 
which  Professor  Maurice  delivered  at  the 
spur  of  the  moment,  interrupting  his  ordi- 
nary course,  on  April  23,  1856, —  the  day 
on  which  we  heard  in  London  the  news  of 
the  death  of  the  poet  Wordsworth.  I  can 
recall  how  he  spoke  to  us  of  the  simplicity, 
the  dignity,  and  whole-hearted  devotion  to 
his  work  of  the  poet's  life,  and  quoted,  as 
one  of  his  most  characteristic  utterances, 
the  lines  on  the  rainbow,  - 

My  heart  leaps  up  when  I  behold 

A  rainbow  in  the  sky : 
So  was  it  when  my  life  began, 
So  is  it  now  I  am  a  man, 

Or  let  me  die  ! 


104  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

The  Child  is  father  of  the  Man; 
And   I  could  wish  my  days  to  be 
Bound  each  to  each  by  natural  piety. 

Professor  Maurice  was  then  living  in 
Guildford  Street.  It  was  not  often  that 
he  could  invite  students  to  his  house,  nor 
was  it  an  easy  matter  to  arrange,  since 
some  of  us  lived  far  away ;  but  twice,  at 
least,  he  asked  me  to  dinner.  Those  were 
the  days  of  the  admirable  little  paper,  The 
Christian  Socialist,  which  died  a  very  early 
death,  though  there  have  been  few  papers 
of  so  high  a  literary  calibre,  containing,  as 
it  did,  contributions  from  J.  M.  Ludlow,  F. 
J.  Furnivall,  Maurice,  T.  Hughes,  and  the 
brilliant  addresses  written  by  Kingsley  un- 
der the  name  of  "  Parson  Lot."  I  remem- 
ber the  earnestness  with  which  we  talked 
of  the  Working  Men's  College,  and  many 
projects  for  social  amelioration. 

At  that  time  I  was  intensely  interested  in 
the  learning  and  historic  research  of  the 
four  portly  volumes  of  Elliott's  Hor&  Apoc- 
alyptica,  of  which,  boy  as  I  was,  I  had 
made  a  complete  analysis.  I  asked  Maurice 


MAURICE  AND  DEAN  STANLEY.     105 

what  he  thought  of  it ;  and  I  remember  the 
sort  of  cold  shock  I  felt  when  he  told  me 
he  regarded  the  entire  system  of  interpreta- 
tion as  utterly  baseless.  It  was  some  years 
before  further  study  brought  home  to  me 
his  conviction,  that,  though  the  Book  of 
Revelation  might,  like  those  of  all  inspired 
writers,  have  "  springing  and  germinal  de- 
velopments," it  was  primarily  "  the  thunder- 
ing reverberation  of  a  mighty  spirit  struck 
by  the  plectrum "  of  the  Neronian  perse- 
cution. 

From  the  time  I  left  King's  College,  Pro- 
fessor Maurice  was  always  my  kind  friend. 
I  met  him  sometimes  at  Mr.  Macmillan's  de- 
lightful reunions  at  Balham  on  "  All  Fools' 
Day."  I  met  him  also  at  the  annual  gath- 
ering of  "  The  Apostles  "  in  the  Star  and 
Garter  at  Richmond.  I  remember  how  he 
came  in  late  at  one  of  those  dinners,  and  - 
being  severely  chaffed  by  Lord  Houghton, 
Sir  Fitzjames  Stephen,  and  others  for  only 
having  come  just  in  time  for  the  "white- 
bait "  -  said  that  "  whitebait  was  his  bete 
noir." 


106  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

Lord  De  Tabley  was  chairman  on  that 
occasion  ;  and  he  proposed  the  health  of 
Maurice,  —  who  was  always  a  hero  amongst 
us,  —  saying  how  little  it  was  to  the  credit 
of  the  dispensers  of  patronage  that  one  who 
had  rendered  to  the  Church  such  services 
as  Maurice  had  done,  should  never  have 
received  the  smallest  mark  of  public  recog- 
nition. In  his  reply  he  passed  over  the 
remark  with  quiet  dignity  ;  but  in  those 
days  there  would  have  been  a  tremendous 
outcry  at  his  promotion.  Once  when  I 
wrote  a  paper  on  the  advantage  of  some 
knowledge  of  metaphysics  for  the  clergy, 
the  Evangelical  editor  struck  out  a  passage 
in  which  I  had  spoken  with  gratitude  of 
Maurice's  Moral  and  Metaphysical  Philos- 
ophy. 

When  I  was  a  master  at  Harrow,  Professor 
Maurice  was  more  than  once  my  guest,  and 
he  was  a  most  delightful  one.  He  kindly 
became  godfather  to  my  second  son,  the 
Rev.  Eric  Maurice  Farrar,  who  bears  his 
name.  I  was  seriously  taken  to  task,  and 
almost  had  a  quarrel  with  certain  excellent 


MAURICE  AND  DEAN  STANLEY.     107 

but  narrow-minded  persons,  for  inviting  him 
to  address  the  members  of  the  Institute  at 
Harrow  ;  but  I  stuck  to  my  point,  and  we 
were  rewarded  by  hearing-  his  beautiful  lec- 
ture on  "The  Friendship  of  Books."  He 
was  touched  by  the  genial  warmth  with 
which  the  Rev.  B.  H.  Drury,  now  Senior 
Fellow  of  Caius  College,  spoke  of  him  in 
proposing  a  vote  of  thanks.  I  continued 
more  or  less  in  kindly  interchange  of  let- 
ters and  rare  conversations  with  him  till  his 
lamented  death,  on  April  i,  1872.  Many  of 
his  pupils  deeply  sympathized  with  him,  and 
sent  an  address  of  condolence  to  him,  on  his 
dismissal  from  the  King's  College  Professor- 
ship, and  received  a  very  grateful  reply.  It 
was  from  his  books  that  I  learnt  the  germ 
of  those  convictions  —  once,  as  I  know  to 
my  cost,  savagely  and  generally  anathema- 
tized, now  openly  professed  by  multitudes 
of  the  clergy  --to  which  I  gave  utterance 
in  my  sermons  on  "  Eternal  Hope." 

Matthew  Arnold,  in  his  tone  of  friendly 
banter,  wrote  of  Maurice  with  high  appre- 
ciation indeed,  but  still  as  having  spent  his 


108  AfEN  /  HA  VE  KNOWN. 

life  in  "  beating  about  the  bush  with  deep 
emotion,  but  never  starting  the  hare."  Yet 
if  it  be  the  reverse  of  "  ineffectual"  to  have 
written  books  which  are  still  highly  valued, 
and  to  have  quickened  to  life  many  precious 
thoughts  in  the  minds  of  many  who  have, 
in  their  turn,  been  among  the  teachers  of 
their  a^e,  it  falls  to  the  lot  of  few  to  achieve 

o     7 

so  great  a  work  as  was  done  by  one  of  the 
truest  prophets  of  the  nineteenth  century,  — 
Frederick  Denison  Maurice. 

Were  I  to  attempt  to  give  all  my  reminis- 
cences of  DEAN  STANLEY,  they  would  occupy 
much  space  ;  for  during  some  years  as  his 
colleague  I  was  thrown  into  almost  daily  in- 
tercourse with  him,  and  constantly  walked 
with  him  in  the  afternoon  to  and  from  the 
Athenaeum.  He  took  the  kindest  interest  in 
my  children,  who  were  then  little  girls  and 
boys,  and  he  wrote  to  them  some  charmingly 
playful  verses.  I  first  met  him,  I  know  not 
how  many  years  ago,  at  the  house  of  his 
brother-in-law,  Dean  Vaughan  ;  and  then 
frequently  at  some  unusually  simple  and  de- 


MA  URICE  AND  DEAN  STANLE  Y.     109 

lightful  dinners,  at  which  the  contributors  to 
the  Dictionary  of  the  Bible  used  to  meet 
monthly  under  the  presidency  of  Sir  W. ' 
Smith.  A  little  before  that  time  Stanley's 
Sinai  and  Palestine  had  made  a  powerful 
impression ;  and  it  is  quite  incessantly  quoted 
in  the  Dictionary,  as  also  is  the  first  volume 
of  the  Lectiires  on  the  History  of  tJie  Jewish 
Church. 

By  these  books  Stanley  rendered  a  far  more 
striking-  service  to  the  Church  than  has  ever 

o 

been  adequately  recognized.  By  what  Lord 
Beaconsfiekl  so  happily  called  his  "  pictur- 
esque sensibility,"  he  made  the  characters  of 
Scripture  history  move  and  speak,  not  as 
conventional  lay  figures,  but  as  living  men 
and  women  of  like  passions  with  ourselves  ; 
and  he  thus  gave  a  powerful  stimulus  to  the 
interest  felt  by  the  young  in  the  study  of  the 
Bible.  It  was  the  fashion  of  a  certain  school 
to  sneer  at  these  books  and  their  little  inac- 
curacies ;  but  the  anonymous  critics  who 
revelled  in  these  sneers  might  have  thanked 
God  if  all  that  they  had  ever  put  together - 
minus  its  envy,  hatred,  and  all  uncharitable- 


1 10  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

ness —  had  achieved  a  hundredth  part  of  the 
good  work  which  was  permitted  to  the  man 
of  whom  they  could  scarcely  speak  without 
an  anathema  or  a  sneer. 

When  I  was  elected  head  master  of  Marl- 
borough  College,  in  December,  1870,  I  re- 
ceived the  letter  of  which  a  fac-simile  is  here 
given.  It  is  far  more  legible  than  most  of 
those  in  the  bundle  which  lies  before  me.  I 
will  ask  the  reader  to  look  at  the  word 
"  Deanery,"  which  shows  the  fact  that  Stan- 
ley's written  words  were  often  only  indicated 
by  their  first  letter.  Thus,  when  he  wrote 
me  a  letter  to  Marlborough  College,  all  that 
the  post-office  authorities  could  make  out 
was  that  the  letter  was  addressed  to  some 
place  of  which  the  name  began  with  M  and 
consisted  of  two  words.  With  admirable  sa- 
gacity, they  sent  the  letter  to  Afcrthyr  Tyd- 
vil.  The  letter,  after  long  wanderings,  was 
sent  back  to  the  Dean,  who,  writing  to  me 
again,  enclosed  the  envelope  with  many  notes 
of  admiration  after  the  "  Marlborough  Col- 
lege." 

The  first  proofs  of   his  Sinai  and  Pales- 


/  /, 


/ 


MAURICE  AND  DEAN  STANLEY.      Ill 

tine  informed  the  reader  that  from  the 
monastery  of  Sinai  was  visible  "  tJic  Jwrn  of 
the  burning  beast ! "  This  was  a  fearfully 
apocalyptic  nightmare  of  the  printer's  devil 
—  for  "  the  horizon  of  the  Burning  Bush" 
The  original  proof-sheets  also  stated  that,  on 
turning  the  shoulder  of  Mount  Olivet  in  the 
walk  from  Bethany,  "  there  suddenly  burst 
upon  the  spectator  a  magnificent  view  of- 
Jones  !  "  In  this  startling  sentence  "  Jones" 
was  a  transmogrification  of  "ferns"  the 
Dean's  abbreviated  way  of  writing  "  Jerusa- 
lem." When  the  Dean  answered  an  invita- 
tion to  dinner,  his  hostess  has  been  known 
to  write  back  and  inquire  whether  his  note 
was  an  acceptance  or  a  refusal ;  and  when  he 
most  kindly  replied  to  the  question  of  some 
working-man,  the  recipient  of  his  letter 
thanked  him,  but  ventured  to  request  that 
the  tenor  of  the  answer  might  be  written 
out  by  some  one  else,  "as  he  was  not 
familiar  with  the  handwriting  of  the  aristoc- 
racy !  " 

While  I  was  master  of  Marlborough,  I  in- 
vited him  to  give  an  address  at  our  supper 


1 12  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

to  commemorate  the  opening  of  "The  Brad- 
leian."  He  came,  as  did  also  Mr.  Matthew 
Arnold  and  Sir  George  Grove  ;  and  it  need 
hardly  be  said  that  the  occasion  was  in  all 
respects  delightful,  and  that  the  Dean's 
speech,  as  the  case  was  always,  was  full  of 
charm. 

When,  after  considerable  hesitation,  I  ac- 
cepted the  canonry  at  Westminster,  he  wrote 
with  his  usual  kindness  :  — 

"My  DEAR  FARRAR,  — 

I  shall  indeed  be  delighted  to  welcome  so  great  an 
accession  to  our  Abbey  staff.'' 

During  the  time  he  was  my  Dean  at  the 
Abbey  he  was  invariably  kind  and  cordial, 
and  it  was  a  delight  to  take  walks  with  him, 

o 

and  to  share  his  simple  but  refined  hospi- 
tality. At  the  Deanery,  and  at  his  evening 
gatherings,  one  was  sure  to  meet  many  in- 
teresting and  distinguished  guests.  His 
interest  in  every  passing  event  was  keen. 
When  Leo  XIII.  was  elected  Pope  he  sent 
me  the  missive  shown  in  facsimile  on  the 
following  page :  - 


MA  URICE  AND  DEAN  STANLE  Y.     1 13 


He  never  really  recovered  his  normal 
vigor  and  good  spirits  after  the  death  of 
his  beloved  wife,  Lady  Augusta  Stanley, 
though  his  happy  visit  to  America  did  much 
to  brighten  and  divert  his  thoughts.  He 
had  many  stories  to  tell  of  the  interviewers, 
and  the  \vay  in  which  they  recorded  what 
he  had  (and  had  not!)  said  and  done.  In 
one  city  the  paper  said,  "  The  Dean  of 
Westminster  ascended  the  pulpit  robed  in 


1 1 4  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  \VN. 

the  insignia  of  the  Diaconale  "  !  —  probably 
the  writer  meant  of  "  the  Decanate  ;  "  and 
he  took  the  ribbon  of  the  Bath  for  an  ec- 
clesiastical distinction.  Only  once  were  the 
reporters  and  interviewers  thrown  off  the 
track,  when,  at  one  of  the  cities,  he  had 
taken  rooms  at  the  hotel,  but  was  met  by 
some  gentleman  in  his  carriage,  who  took 
him  to  the  hospitality  of  his  house.  The 
pressmen  did  not  even  know  where  he 
was ;  but  this  did  not  make  the  slightest 
difference,  and  on  the  Monday  there  were 
full  accounts  of  his  doings  just  as  usual  ! 

He  was  a  tolerably  regular  attendant  at 
Convocation.  He  used  to  go  in,  make  a 
speech  which  cut  across  the  grain  of  the 
susceptibilities  of  most  of  his  hearers,  and 
then  march  out  with  his  head  defiantly  in 
the  air,  not  waiting  to  hear  the  outburst 
which  his  speech  often  caused. 

Yet,  personally,  some  of  his  strongest  op- 
ponents loved  him.  On  one  occasion  Arch- 
deacon Denison  actually  walked  out  in  the 
middle  of  Stanley's  speech,  saying  that  he 
really  could  not  stop  to  listen  to  such  her- 


MAURICE  AND  DEAN  STANLEY.      115 

esies ;  but  shortly  after,  Stanley  met  him, 
and,  taking  him  by  the  arm,  said,  "  Come 
in  to  luncheon,  my  dear  fellow,"  and  in  a 
few  minutes  they  were  talking  and  laugh- 
ing together  most  heartily. 

One  of  the  severe  critics  whose  incisive 
remarks  he  took  most  good-humoredly  was 
his  former  Canterbury  colleague,  the  late 
Archdeacon  Harrison.  On  the  occasion  of 
the  thankso-ivinor  service  on  the  Prince  of 

<!!>  O 

Wales's  recovery  from  severe  illness,  Stanley 
had  preached,  and,  with  his  usual  penchant 
for  historic  analogies,  had  spoken  of  the 
interesting  fact  that  on  the  last  occasion  of 
a  similar  character  George  III.  had  come 
to  St.  Paul's  to  thank  God  for  his  recovery. 
The  Dean  drew  a  parallel  between  "  the  aged 
king  and  the  youthful  prince."  On  coming 
out  of  the  Cathedral,  Archdeacon  Harrison 
met  him,  and  his  only  criticism  of  the  ser- 
mon was,  "  Humph  \  aged  king,  46  :  yoiitli- 
ful  prince,  29.  Humph ! "  So  far  from 
being  offended  by  this  keen  criticism,  which 
was  meant  to  speak  volumes,  the  Dean 
laughed  heartily  as  he  told  me  this  story 
against  himself. 


1 16  ME N  T  HA  rr.  KNO  \VN. 

There  is  no  denying  that  he  was  abso- 
lutely out  of  sympathy  with  the  extreme 
and  more  ritualistic  developments  of  what 
is  called  "  the  Oxford  School."  Disputes 
about  copes,  etc.,  he  used  to  speak  of  as 
"quarrels  about  clergymen's  clot  lies."  Every 
sympathy  of  his  mind,  every  feeling  of  his 
heart,  made  him  regard  churchly  exclu- 
siveness  and  the  enforcement  of  unauthor- 
ised shibboleths  with  something  as  nearly 
approaching  to  anger  as  his  genial  temper- 
ament permitted.  He  looked  on  love,  large - 
heartedness,  and  a  spirituality  unlettered 
by  anything  which  he  regarded  as  niggling 
or  nugatory,  as  essential  characteristics  of 
the  spirit  of  true  Christianity.  He  regarded 
many  liturgiological  minutiae  as  being  on 
a  level  with  the  Levitic  ordinances  which 
St.  Paul  and  the  author  of  the  Epistle  to 
the  Hebrews  described  as  carnal,  weak, 
and  beggarly  rudiments.  Hence  on  mat- 
ters of  opinion  he  was  not  in  touch  with 
many  of  the  clergy,  and  there  is  no  doubt 
that  he  rather  enjoyed  a  certain  sense  of 
chivalry  in  the  courageous  isolation  which 
he  was  forced  to  maintain. 


MAURICE  AND  DEAN  STANLEY.      117 

The  late  Archbishop  Magee  ventured  to 
say  that  the  clergy  were  like  damp  hay, 
which  grows  more  hot  and  more  likely  to 
burst  into  flame  when  it  is  thickly  packed. 
I  was  present  at  a  crowded  and  excited 
meeting  of  the  clergy,  convened  in  the 
National  Society's  room  at  Westminster,  so 
far  as  I  can  remember,  to  denounce  one  of 
Bishop  Colenso's  archdeacons,  and  inciden- 
tally the  late  Bishop  of  Worcester,  who  had 
said  a  kind  word  in  his  favor.  Archbishop 
Tait  was  in  the  chair ;  Archbishop  Thom- 
son of  York  sat  beside  him  ;  and  many 
bishops  were  present,  with  a  large  array  of 
clergy.  At  one  point  Archbishop  Tait  in- 
dignantly interfered  to  suppress  and  forbid 
some  very  free  comments  on  Bishop  Phil- 
pott  ;  but  Colenso  was  anathematized  with- 
out stint. 

Then  Stanley  got  up  to  speak.  He 
pronounced  a  glowing  eulogy  on  Bishop 
Colenso  as  the  only  bishop  who,  with  in- 
tense, indefatigable  toil,  had  mastered  the 
Zulu  language  ;  as  the  only  bishop  who  had 
translated  the  Bible  into  the  native  Ian- 


1 18  MEN  I  HA  I'E  KNO IVN. 

guage  of  his  heathen  people ;  as  the  only 
bishop  who  had  stayed  in  his  humble  colo- 
nial see  for  years  together,  never  coming 
home  except  for  business,  and  to  right  the 
wrongs  of  the  oppressed,  and  in  cases  of 
absolute  necessity. 

"  Sneer  at  Bishop  Colenso !  "  he  said  de- 
fiantly, at  the  close  of  his  speech  :  "  Bishop 
Colenso's  name  will  be  remembered  and 
honored  when  "  —  with  a  sweep  of  his  arm 
—  "when  everyone  of  you  is  dead,  buried, 
and  utterly  forgotten." 

After  his  delivery  of  that  speech,  in 
which  he  had  liberated  his  mind,  he  was 
in  unusually  high  spirits. 

He  felt,  not  without  sadness,  that  the  day 
of  his  literary  popularity  was  gone.  His 
Christian  Institutions,  thanks  to  the  un- 
just sneers  heaped  upon  it  in  spite  of  its 
loving  charm  and  wisdom,  was  very  little 
noticed,  and  chiefly  with  contemptuous  de 
preciation. 

"  After  a  man  has  written  a  certain 
amount,"  he  said  to  me,  "  the  public  seem 
to  want  no  more  of  him  ;  and  the  davs 


MA  URICE  AND  DEAN  STANLE  Y.      119 

when  my  books  ran  through  edition  after 
edition  is  past  and  gone." 

But  his  death  gave  a  fresh  impulse  to 
the  sale  of  his  books. 

He  had  long  contemplated,  with  real  in- 
terest, a  little  plan  of  preaching  on  the 
Beatitudes  on  Saturday  afternoons  in  sum- 
mer, and  of  illustrating  his  sermons  by 
the  memories  of  those  who  were  buried  in 
the  Abbey.  As  I  was  Canon  in  Residence 
at  the  time,  I  heard  these  sermons  preached 
on  1 8th  June,  1881,  and  on  following  Satur- 
days. He  illustrated  the  Beatitudes  of  "  the 
poor  in  spirit,"  and  of  ''those  who  mourn," 
by  little  sketches  of  Edward  the  Confessor 
and  Jeremiah  Horrocks,  and  by  the  pathetic 
tablet  with  his  favorite  inscription,  —  to  "Jane 
Lister,  Dear  Childe,  who  died  October  7, 
1688." 

He  illustrated  the  Beatitude  of  the  meek 
by  Margaret  of  Richmond,  mother  of  Henry 
VII.,  who  said  that  if  the  princes  of  Europe 
would  cease  to  war  with  each  other,  and 
would  combine  against  the  Turk,  she  would 
go  as  their  washerwoman.  The  Beatitude 

o 


120  MEN  I  HA  VE  KATO  WN. 

of  those  who  hunger  and  thirst  after  right- 
eousness was  enforced  by  stories  of  the 
emancipators  of  the  slave,  Granville  Sharp, 
Zachary  Macaulay,  and  Wilberforce ;  the  Be- 
atitude of  the  merciful,  by  Martin  of  Gal  way 
(who  carried  through  Parliament,  amidst 
obloquy  of  every  kind,  the  bill  to  suppress 
cruelty  to  animals),  by  Charles  James  Fox, 
and  Charles  Dickens.  The  Beatitude  of 
the  pure  in  heart  evoked  reminiscences 
of  Milton,  Addison,  and  Wordsworth,  and  of 
Newton  (of  whom  his  friends  said  that  he  had 
the  whitest  soul  they  had  ever  known). 

This  last  sermon  was  preached  on  July 
9,  1 83 1.  It  was  the  last  sermon  he  ever 
preached,  and  the  tones  of  it  still  echo  in 
my  memory.  In  the  middle  of  the  service 
I  was  surprised  to  see  the  Dean  go  out. 
He  came  back  in  time  to  preach,  and  told 
me  afterwards  that  he  had  suddenly  felt 
ill.  Next  day  he;  took  to  his  bed,  and  I 
visited  him,  little  knowing  how  grave  his 
illness  was;  towards  the  close  of  the  fol- 
lowing week  erysipelas  set  in.  His  friend, 
the  late  Bishop  Fraser  of  Manchester,  was 


MA  URICE  AND  DEAN  STANLE  Y.      121 

to  preach  at  the  Abbey  on  the  evening  of 
Sunday,  July  17.  As  he  could  not  be  re- 
ceived at  the  Deanery,  he  came  to  my 
house,  and,  shocked  at  the  news  of  the 
Dean's  danger,  shut  himself  up  in  my  study, 
and  added  to  his  sermon  a  most  touching 
and  eloquent  tribute  to  the  Dean's  beauty 
of  character,  moving  many  to  tears  as  he 
asked  for  their  prayers. 

That  night  I  spent  in  the  Dean's  bedroom, 
in  which  also  were  Lady  Frances  Baillie,  Dr. 
Harper,  the  late  Precentor  Flood  Jones,  and 
others.  The  Dean  was  then  wholly  unaware 
of  his  approaching  end  ;  he  talked  of  get- 
ting up  and  going  about.  Then  I  earnestly 
asked  his  friends  present  whether  they  would 
like  to  face  death  without  even  being  warned 
that  the  solemn  crisis  was  near.  They  were 
afraid  of  the  shock  which  the  announce- 
ment might  cause  to  him.  I  told  them 
that  I  had  been  present  at  many  death- 
beds ;  had  often  insisted  that  dying  men 
or  women  should  be  warned  of  their  peril ; 
and  had  never  once  known  the  slightest 

O 

shock  follow  a  calm  announcement. 


122  MEN  I  HA  VR  KNO  WN. 

Thereupon  Dr.  Harper  gently  told  the 
Dean  that  he  must  not  for  a  moment  think 
of  getting  up ;  that  he  was  dangerously  ill ; 
and  that,  besides,  he  was  probably  unaware 
how  much  his  face  was  altered  and  disfig- 
ured. This  was,  indeed,  so  sadly  true  that 
no  photograph  of  him  could  be  taken,  and 
his  features  were  swollen  out  of  recogni- 
tion. With  the  most  innocent  of  gestures 
he  raised  his  hand  to  his  face,  and  remained 
silent  for  a  few  moments.  Afterwards  I 
proposed  to  administer  to  him  the  Holy 
Communion,  and  he  assented.  He  then 
desired  me  to  take  down  his  latest  mes- 
sages—  a  very  difficult  task,  for  he  could 
scarcely  make  any  distinct  articulation.  At 
last,  however,  I  made  out  these  words  — 
the  paper  (a  half- sheet  of  the  Deanery 
note-paper,  on  which  I  wrote  them  with  a 
blunt  pencil)  is  now  lying  before  me:  — 

"  The  end  has  come  in  the  way  I  most  desired  that 
it  should  come,  if  I  could  have  controlled  it.  Before 
and  after  preaching  one  of  my  sermons  on  the  Beat- 
itudes, I  had  a  most  violent  feeling  of  sickness,  took 
to  my  bed,  and  said  immediately  I  wished  to  die 
at  Westminster. 


MAURICE  AND  DEAN  STANLEY.      123 

"  Bless  the  Drummonds  —  you,  dearest  Frances, 
and  you,  dearest  Mary ;  naturally,  you  know  more 
about  my  thoughts  and  papers  than  any  one  else  in  the 
world." 

After  this  he  wandered  a  little,  but  then 
rallied  his  forces  to  dictate  his  last  message 
to  the  Queen  and  the  nation.  It  was  as 
follows,  the  only  distinctly  articulated  words 
being :  — 

"  A  mark  of  respect  to  the  Queen  ;  and  I  trust  that 
last  mark  of  conferring  attention  .  .  .  the  value  of  the 
Abbey  .  .  .  the  glory  of  the  Abbey  .  .  .  and  what  the 
duties  of  this  office  are  supposed  to  be.  In  spite  of 
every"  —[here  I  had  long  to  wait  before  the  dying 
Dean  could  eonvey  to  me  the  word  he  intended,  which 
was]  —  "  incompetence,  I  have  yet  humbly  trusted  that 
I  have  sustained  before  the  mind  of  the  nation  the 
extraordinary  value  of  the  Abbey  as  a  religious,  lib- 
eral, and  national  institution,  and  in  spite  of  almost 
every  .  .  ." 

Those  were  the  last  consecutive  and  intel- 
ligible words  which  Dean  Stanley  uttered, 
and  they  have  never  before  been  published. 
I  mentioned  the  substance  of  them  to  Arch- 
bishop Tait,  and  he  repeated  them,  but  not 
quite  accurately,  in  a  speech  in  Convocation, 
from  which  they  got  into  the  papers. 


124  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

The  next  day  the  Dean  lay  still,  and  either 
silent  or  incoherent,  and  no  friend  was  al- 
lowed to  be  present,  in  order  that  he  might, 
if  possible,  have  a  partial  recovery.  But  on 
the  Monday  night  I  was  again  summoned 
to  his  bedside,  where,  besides  Lady  Frances 
Baillie,  were  Dean  and  Mrs.  Vaughan,  and 
for  a  time  Archbishop  Tait.  I  le  spoke  no 
word  that  night,  but  with  long,  labored, 
tremulous  sighs  gradually  passed  - 

To  where  beyond  these  voices  there  is  peace. 

We  read  to  him,  and  prayed  with  him. 
Among  other  things  I  put  into  Mrs.  Vaugh- 
an's  hands  his  favorite  hymn,  the  noble 
hymn  of  Charles  Wesley  — 

Come,  O  Thou  Traveller  unknown, 

Whom  still  I  hear  and  cannot  see, 
My  company  before  is  gone, 

And  I  am  left  alone  with  Thee  ; 
Alone  with  Thee  I   mean  to  stay, 
And  wrestle  till  the  break  of  day. 

I  doubt,  however,  whether  he  heard  or 
was  conscious  of  anything.  He  seemed  to 
be  speaking,  but  no  words  were  intelligible. 


MAURICE  AND  DEAN  STANLEY.      125 
At  last  came  the  lonor  fluttering  breath,  and 

o  o 

the  heart  ceased  to  beat.  We  flung  our- 
selves on  our  knees  in  turns,  and  prayed, 
our  eyes  bathed  in  tears,  our  voices  broken 
by  sobs. 

His  was  the  purest,  most  childlike,  most 
beautiful  spirit  I  have  ever  known.  He  was 
a  perfect  illustration  of-  that  definition  of 
"  Genius,"  already  quoted,  which  describes 
it  as  "  the  heart  of  childhood  taken  up  and 
matured  in  the  powers  of  manhood." 

There  has  been  rarely  such  a  sight  in 
England  as  that  presented  by  his  funeral. 
He  was  laid  beside  his  beloved  wife,  Lady 
Augusta  Stanley,  who  had  been  inex- 
pressibly dear  to  him.  The  Archbishop, 
Archdeacon  Jennings,  Dean  Vaughan,  and 
I  took  part  in  the  funeral.  Hundreds  of  the 
poor  of  Westminster  were  present,  and  many 
of  the  greatest  writers,  artists,  and  states- 
men. Almost  all  the  royal  princes  stood 
round  the  little  chapel  which  contains  his 
grave,  and  there  was  scarcely  one  eye  that 
was  not  wet  with  tears. 


V. 

A   GROUP   OF   SCIENTISTS. 

DOCTOR  WHEWELL  ;  PROFESSOR  CLERK  MAX- 
WELL J  CHARLES  DARWIN  ;  PROFESSOR  TVN- 
DALL  ;  PROFESSOR  HUXLEY. 

MY  reminiscences  of  the  great  DR.  WHEW- 
ELL, Master  of  Trinity  College,  Cambridge, 
and  author,  among  other  books,  of  the  fa- 
mous History  and  of  the  Philosophy  of  the 
Inductive  Sciences,  are  chiefly  those  of  the 
days  when  I  was  an  undergraduate,  a  scholar, 
and  a  young  fellow  of  the  great  college  over 
which  he  presided. 

In  those  days,  whatever  may  be  the  case 
now,  the  master  of  a  college  stood  at  an 
awful  distance  from  the  undergraduates. 
Only  a  few  favored  youths,  chiefly  scholars, 
were  invited  to  what  were  called  "  the  stand- 
ups  "  -  that  is,  to  parties  at  the  master's 
lodge,  where  no  undergraduate  was  ever 

126 


il 


CHARLES   DARWIN. 


DOCTOR   WHEW  ELL.  127 

supposed  to  take  the  awful  liberty  of  sitting 
down.  It  is,  I  cannot  doubt,  a  sign  of  great- 
ness to  be  made  the  subject  of  contemporary 
myths  ;  for  the  clouds  gather  about  moun- 
tain peaks.  Not  a  few  myths  used  to  be 
narrated  of  our  great  master.  As  "  myths  " 
alone  do  I  refer  to  them,  not  in  the  least 
vouching  for  their  truth.  One  was,  that 

c> 

when  he  was  tutor  he  had  invited  a  num- 
ber of  his  "men"  to  a  "wine"  -as  the 
entertainments  of  those  days  used  to  be 
called.  Noticing  a  vacant  place,  he  said  to 
his  "  gyp," 

"  Why  is  not  Mr.  -      -  here  ?  " 

"  He  is  dead,  sir,"  was  the  reply. 

"  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  when  my  pu- 
pils die  !  "  was  the  indignant  answer. 

Now,  I  do  not  believe  a  word  of  this 
legend  ;  for  though  I  did  not  know  Dr. 
Whewell  in  the  days  when  he  was  a  tutor, 
yet,  judging  from  his  kindness  to  me  when 
he  was  master,  I  am  quite  sure  that  he 
would  keep  more  or  less  in  touch  with  his  pu- 
pils. Another  favorite  myth  bore  on  the  bon 
mot  of  some  one,  —  I  think  Sydney  Smith, 


128  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

-  that  "  science  was  Dr.  Whewell's  forte, 
and  omniscience  his  foible."  He  was  sup- 
posed to  know  "  something  about  every- 
thing, and  everything  about  some  things." 
On  one  occasion,  two  of  the  fellows,  think- 
ing to  get  beyond  his  range,  began  to  talk 
on  the  subject  of  Chinese  metaphysics,  which 
they  had  got  up  for  the  purpose.  Whewell 
listened  in  silence  for  a  time,  and  then  ob- 
served, — 

"  Ah  !  I  see  you  have  been  reading  a 
paper  which  I  wrote  for  an  Encyclopaedia 
of  Science." 

After  that,  they  laid  no  more  plots  to  find 
limits  to  his  universal  knowledge  ! 

I  vividly  recall  the  fine  and  stately  pres- 
ence of  the  master,  which  (as  another  myth 
related)  made  a  prize-fighter  deplore  that  so 
splendid  a  physique,  and  such  thews  and 
sinews,  should  be  thrown  away  on  a  mere 
clergyman  !  I  remember  him  especially  in 
the  college  chapel.  He  was  an  unfeignedly 
religious  man.  One  little  peculiarity  of  his 
in  the  Communion  service  was  always  to 
omit  the  words  ''and  oblations"  after  "to 


DOCTOR   W HE  WELL.  129 

receive  these  our  alms."  He  understood 
the  word  "oblations"  to  mean  simply  the 
bread  and  wine  as  normally  presented,  or 
supposed  to  be  presented,  by  the  congre- 
gation. As  we  undergraduates  had  nothing 
to  do  with  providing  the  Eucharistic  ele- 
ments, he  thought  it  meaningless  to  use 
the  word. 

He  preached  to  us  only  once  a  term ; 
for  in  those  days  every  undergraduate  was 
supposed  to  attend  the  University  sermon, 
either  at  ten  or  at  three,  or  both.  The 
morning  sermon  was,  as  a  rule,  miserably 
attended ;  and  the  afternoon  but  scantily, 
though  we  used  to  flock  to  hear  the  very 
small  number  of  really  eminent  preachers 
who  were,  in  those  days,  invited  to  address 
us.  It  is  perhaps  hardly  surprising  that 
the  morning  University  sermon  should  have 
been  abolished,  for  I  haye  sometimes  seen 
barely  half  a  dozen  undergraduates  present. 
Preachers  were  often  duller  even  than  their 
wont,  because  they  unwisely  used  the  Uni- 
versity pulpit  to  air  their  special  "  views," 
or  mounted,  for  the  nonce,  on  stilts  to  which 


1 .30  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  W TV. 

they  were  not  accustomed.  The  clerk  of 
St.  Mary's  (or  one  of  the  Esquire  Bedells, 
I  forget  which)  is  reported  to  have  made 
the  remark,  - 

"  I  have  attended  the  University  sermons 
morning  and  evening  for  forty  years,  and 
thank  God  I  am  still  a  Christian  !  " 

There  are  now  sermons  every  Sunday  in 
all  the  college  chapels,  and  doubtless  they 
are  more  generally  useful. 

It  would  hardly  have  been  supposed  that 
Dr.  Whewell's  sermons  should  frequently 
have  had  a  marked  poetic  tinge.  Such, 
however,  was  the  case.  As  an  undergrad- 
uate he  had  won  the  Chancellor's  Medal 
for  a  poem  on  Boadicca,  and  several  of  his 
fugitive  pieces  of  poetry  are  still  preserved. 

I  still  remember  his  sermons.  There 
was  one  especially,  preached  on  Feb.  23, 
1851,  which  we  undergraduates  asked  him 
to  print.  He  did  so,  and  sent  a  copy  to 
each  of  us,  with  the  preface  :  - 

"  Several  of  those  who  heard  this  ser- 
mon having  expressed  a  desire  to  see  it 
in  print,  I  gladly  offer  it  to  them  in  that 


DOCTOR    WHEWELL.  131 

form,  with  my  affectionate  wishes  for  their 
welfare,  and  especially  for  their  spiritual 
welfare." 

I  still  possess  the  copy  which  he  sent  me. 
The  text  was  Isa.  xxx.  15,  "  In  quietness 
and  in  confidence  shall  be  your  strength" 
He  spoke  of  the  true  sources  of  strength 
in  sorrow,  in  doubt,  in  religious  change, 
and  amid  social  anxieties,  pointing  out  that 
what  we  are  to  aim  at  is  faith  —  not  "the 
quietness  of  inaction  and  the  confidence  of 
carelessness,"  but  the  clue  use  of  the  means 
of  grace. 

"  Consider,"  he  said,  "  how  great  is  the 
weight  which  these  years  of  your  life  have 
to  bear ;  how  much  depends  upon  your 
forming  here  a  manly  and  worthy  view  of 
the  value  of  your  own  purity  and  sobriety 
of  mind  —  how  much  to  yourselves,  how 
much  to  your  country,  how  much  to  your 
destiny,  in  time  and  in  eternity.  Seek  to 
make  your  weeks  roll  round  like  the  wheels 
of  a  chariot  which  is  to  carry  you  along 
the  road  of  God's  commands  and  purposes, 
which  is  bringing  you  continually  nearer  to 


132  MEN  I  HA  V'E  KNO IV N. 

the  gate  of  heaven.  And  so  doing,  may 
the  Spirit  of  God  descend  upon  you  week 
by  week,  and  day  by  day  !  " 

It  was  in  those  days  the  idiotic  and  ill- 
mannered  practice  of  the  undergraduates  to 
begin  a  loud  and  continuous  whistle  when- 
ever Dr.  Whewell  entered  the  Senate 
House.  How  this  originated  I  do  not 

o 

know.  There  were  two  legends  about  it : 
one  was,  that  it  intimated  that  the  master 
vvould-have  to  whistle  for  a  bishopric  —  an 
honor  for  which  I  should  imagine  that  he 
had  not  the  remotest  desire ;  the  other 
(equally  absurd)  was,  that  when  some  one 
had  asked  him  how  to  pronounce  his  name 
he  had  said,  "  You  must  shape  your  mouth 
as  if  you  were  going  to  whistle !  " 

But  he  was  the  greatest  man  among  us  ; 
and  I  can  remember  my  feeling  of  pained  vex- 
ation to  think  how  unworthy  it  was  of  Cam- 
bridge that  this  insulting  inanity  should  be 
practised  upon  the  master  of  our  chief  college, 
term  after  term,  and  year  after  year,  even 
in  the  presence  of  distinguished  strangers. 
At  one  time  Dr.  Whewell,  owing  to  some 


DOCTOR   WHEWELL.  J33 

line  which  he  took  in  University  questions, 
was  very  unpopular.  He  was  hooted  from 
the  Senate  House,  and  even  an  assault  on 
him  was  apprehended.  On  one  occasion 
the  masters  of  arts  and  others  formed  a  sort 
of  escort  and  conducted  him  back  to  Trinity 
Lodofe. 

o 

But  when  his  wife,  Lady  Affleck,  died,  a 
very  touching  incident  occurred,  showing  the 
genuine  goodness  of  heart  which  lay  under 
the  rough  manners  of  the  "  men."  Dr. 
Whewell  had  been  tenderly  devoted  to  his 
wife,  and  when  he  attended  chapel  after  her 
death  the  Trinity  men  were  touched  by  the 
fact  that  he  had  not  shrunk  from  letting 
them  see  the  spectacle  of  "  an  old  man's 
anguish,  and  a  strong  man's  tears."  When 
next  he  entered  the  Senate  House  there  was 
dead  silence.  For  the  first  time  for  I  know 
not  how  many  years  not  a  whistle  was  heard  ; 
and  then,  a  moment  afterwards,  as  by  spon- 
taneous impulse,  the  whole  crowded  mass  of 
undergraduates  in  the  gallery  burst  into  a 
loud  and  long-continued  cheer.  It  was  not 
astonishing  that  such  a  proof  of  sympathy 


134  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

should  have  moved  the  heart  of  the  great 
master,  or  that  the  tears  should  have  run 
down  his  cheeks.  After  that,  I  do  not  think 
that  he  was  ever  whistled  at  again. 

To  me  Dr.  Whewell  was  always  kind,  and 
more  than  kind.  When  I  was  elected  a 
scholar  he  addressed  me  in  friendly  terms. 
He  read  through  with  me  the  poem  on 
The  Arctic  Regions  which  obtained  for  me 
the  Chancellor's  medal.  In  one  line  I  had 
called  the  icebergs  "  unfabled  Strophades." 
"  Ah  !  "  he  said,  "  an  admirable  expression  !  " 

And  he  had  a  little  talk  with  me  as 
to  whether  I  meant  a  particular  word  to 
be  "  irridescence  "  or  "iridescence."  In  the 
examination  for  the  Trinity  Fellowships  a 
paper  was  always  set  in  Moral  Philosophy 
and  Metaphysics.  I  happened  to  have  read 
all  through  the  works  of  Samuel  Taylor 
Coleridge,  for  whom  I  felt  in  those  days  a 
boundless  admiration,  and  whose  works  I 
had  selected  for  one  of  my  Trinity  prizes. 
In  my  paper  I  had  often  referred  to  the 
views  of  Coleridge,  and  this  pleased  the 
master  very  much,  for  (though  I  did  not 


DOCTOR    W HEM' ELL.  135 

know  it)  he  too  had  a  great  sympathy  and 
admiration  for  S.  T.  C.  He  told  me,  with  a 
pleasant  smile,  that  he  had  never  before  met 
with  a  fellowship  candidate  who  had  made 
the  same  use  of  Coleridge's  views  as  I  had 
done. 

When  the  question  of  University  Reform 
was  vehemently  agitated  with  reference  to 
the  Royal  Commission,  I  took  the  side  of 
those  who  voted  for,  and  ur^ed  on,  the 

o 

changes  of  system  which  have,  since  then, 
very  considerably  altered  the  whole  of  col- 
lege life  and  university  education.  Dr. 
Whewell  was  strongly,  I  had  almost  said 
passionately,  "on  the  other  side,  and  I  had  a 
long  letter  from  him  in  consequence  of  a 
speech  of  mine  at  one  of  the  meetings  of  the 
fellows  of  Trinity.  He  did  not  alter  the 
opinions  which  I  had  been  led  to  form,  but  it 
is  needless  to  say  that  I  wrote  my  answer  to 
his  arguments  with  the  deepest  respect  and 
the  most  modest  deference.  I  always  felt 
warmly  grateful  for  all  that  I  owed  to  him, 
and  am  thankful  to  have  come  in  contact 
with -so  fine  a  personality. 


136  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

A  very  great  man  of  science  —  PROFESSOR 
J.  CI.EKK  MAXWELL  —  was  my  contemporary 
at  college,  and  entered  as  a  freshman  with 
myself.  He  was  elected  a  scholar  in  the 
same  year  as  I  was,  and  we  were  constantly 
thrown  together  during  the  time  of  our  Uni- 
versity career.  Many  a  long  walk  have  I 
had  with  him,  and  spent  with  him  many  a 
bright  and  cheery  evening,  while  "life  moved 
like  a  fiery  pillar  before  us,  the  dark  side  not 
yet  turned."  He  was  elected  into  the  very 
small  Society  of  "  Apostles,"  to  which  have 
belonged  such  men  as  Archbishop  Trench, 
Dean  Alford,  Thompson,  Master  of  Trinity, 
Lord  Houghton,  Lord  De  Tabley,  F.  D. 
Maurice  Sterling,  Sir  Henry  Mayne,  the 
late  Sir  A.  Buller,  Sir  J.  Fitzjames  Stephen, 
Lord  Tennyson,  Arthur  Hallam,  F.  J.  Hort, 
and  many  eminent  men  now  living,  whom  I 
will  not  name.  Maxwell's  speeches  and  pa- 
pers at  the  meetings  of  this  little  society  — 
which  did  not  number  more  than  five  or  six 
members  —  were  always  most  able  and  most 
characteristic. 

His  interventions  in  the  discussions,  when 


PROFESSOR   ;7   CLERK  MAXWELL.     137 

each  of  us  had  to  speak  in  turn,  were  often 
hardly  intelligible  to  any  one  who  did  not 
understand  the  general  characteristics  of  his 
mind,  which  were  very  marked  in  his  con- 
versation. If  you  said  something  to  him, 
he  would  reply  by  a  remark  which  seemed 
wide  as  the  poles  from  what  you  had  men- 
tioned. This  often  had  the  effect  of  di- 
verting the  conversation  from  the  subject  in 
hand,  because  the  remark  appeared  wholly 
irrelevant.  When  this  was  the  case,  he 
usually  dropped  the  discussion  altogether ; 
and,  indeed',  many  of  those  who  casually 
met  him  regarded  him  as  incomprehensible 
for  this  reason.  But  if  you  gave  him  his 
bent,  he  would  soon  show  you  that  his  ob- 
servation, so  far  from  beinor  nihil  ad  rctn, 

C5 

really  bore  very  closely  on  the  heart  of  the 
question  at  issue.  To  this  he  would  gradu- 
ally approach,  until  the  relevance  of  his 
first  remark,  which  seemed  so  distant  from 
the  topic  under  consideration,  became  abun- 
dantly manifest. 

At  one  time,  when  I  was  an   undergradu- 
ate,   I    became    very  despondent   about    my 


138  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO IV N. 

mathematics.  In  those  days,  the  rule  had 
only  just  been  altered  which  insisted  that  a 
classical  student  should  take  honors  in  the 
mathematical  tripos  before  he  was  even 
permitted  to  present  himself  in  the  classi- 
cal. I  might  have  availed  myself  of  this 
rule,  but  did  not  like  to  do  so.  Having 
been  originally  intended  for  Oxford,  I  had 
never  taken  much  trouble  with  mathemat- 
ics, and  had,  moreover,  been  very  badjy  and 
carelessly  trained  in  them.  Hence  I  was 
nervous  about  the  tripos  ;  and,  seeing  this, 
Maxwell,  who  was  a  ready  verse-writer,  felt 
a  genuine  sympathy  with  me  in  my  dis- 
heartenment,  and  wrote  me  a  little  apologue 
called  7 he  Lark  and  the  Cabbage.  In  this 
he  compared  himself,  with  his  mathemat- 
ical studies,  to  the  cabbage  ;  and  me,  with 
my  supposed  poetic  aspirations,  to  the  lark, 
-the  upshot  being  that  I  had  better  not 
attempt  the  mathematical  tripos,  but  reserve 
myself  for  classics.  I  replied  in  a  similar 
strain  of  nonsense,  ending  with  — 

It  is  a  lark  to  be  a  lark, 
'Tis  green  to  be  a  cabbage. 


PROFESSOR  J.  CLERK  MAXWELL.     139 

Sometimes,  however,  he  wrote  more  serious 
verses ;  and  when  I  left  Cambridge  he  was 
one  of  the  half-dozen  friends  who  entered 
their  thoughts  for  me  in  a  little  manuscript 
book.  What  he  wrote  was  striking  and 

o 

noble  —  far  more  so,  I  should  imagine,  than 
has  often  been  written  by  one  undergradu- 
ate for  another.  It  was  as  follows  :  — 

"  He  that  would  enjoy  life'  and  act  with 
freedom  must  have  the  work  of  the  clay 
continually  before  his  eyes.  Not  yester- 
day's work,  lest  he  fall  into  despair ;  not 
to-morrow's,  lest  he  become  a  visionary  — 
not  that  which  ends  with  the  day,  which  is 
a  worldly  work;  nor  yet  that  only  which  re- 
mains to  eternity,  for  by  it  he  cannot  shape 
his  actions. 

"  Happy  is  the  man  who  can  recognize 
in  the  work  of  to-day  a  connected  portion 
of  the  work  of  life,  and  an  embodiment  of 
the  work  of  eternity.  The  foundations  of 
his  confidence  are  unchangeable,  for  he 

£> 

has  been  made  a  partaker  of  Infinity.  He 
strenuously  works  out  his  daily  enterprises, 
because  the  present  is  given  him  for  a  pos- 


140  MEN  I  HA  I'E  KNO  WN. 

session.  Thus  ought  man  to  be  an  imper- 
sonation of  the  divine  process  of  nature, 
and  to  show  forth  the  union  of  the  infinite 
with  the  finite  ;  not  slighting  his  temporal 
existence,  remembering  that  in  it  only  is 
individual  action  possible,  nor  yet  shutting 
out  from  his  view  that  which  is  eternal, 
knowing  that  Time  is  a  mystery  which  man 
cannot  endure  to  contemplate  until  eternal 
truth  enlighten  it." 

With  CHARLES  DARWIN,  one  of  the  great- 
est, and  certainly  the  most  epoch-making 
man,  of  science  in  our  age,  I  was  chiefly 
acquainted  by  correspondence.  My  inti- 
macy with  several  of  our  greatest  men  of 
science  elates  from  Feb.  8,  1867,  in  which 
year  I  delivered,  by  request,  one  of  the 
lectures  before  the  Royal  Institution  in 
Albemarle  Street.  Being  then  a  master  at 
Harrow,  I  boldly  chose  for  my  subject, 
Some  Defects  in  Our  Public  School  Edu- 
cation. The  system  of  spending  many 
hours  every  week  over  Greek  and  Latin 
verse  was,  at  that  time,  in  lull  vogue  in  all 

O 


CHARLES  DAR  WIN.  141 

schools,  and  I  vigorously  attacked  it.  I  had 
founded  a  little  Scientific  or  Natural  History 
Society  among  the  boys  at  Harrow.  It  did 
excellent  work,  giving  scope  to  boys  who, 
like  the  late  Professor  F.  Balfour,  cared  but 
little  for  the  ordinary  curriculum ;  and  my 
efforts  to  stimulate  an  interest  in  botany  and 
other  branches  of  study  and  observation  left 
a  permanent  impress  on  the  minds  of  several 
Harrovians.  Struck  with  the  good  effect  of 
interest  in  science  on  the  intellectual  devel- 
opment of  many  boys,  I  urged  in  my  lec- 
ture that  the  very  artificial  drilling  in  Latin 
and  Greek  verse  should  be  minimized,  and 
entirely  abandoned  in  the  case  of  boys  who 
had  no  sort  of  aptitude  for  it.  I  had  known 
boys  who,  after  years  of  training  in  it,  only 
succeeded  in  producing  at  last  some  limping 
and  abortive  heptameter ! 

Sir  Henry  Holland  was  in  the  chair;  Pro- 
fessor Tyndall,  Mr.  Spottiswoode,  afterwards 
President  of  the  Royal  Society,  and  other 
scientific  leaders  were  present.  They  hailed 
my  lecture  with  the  utmost  warmth  —  paid 
it  the  unusual  honor  of  printing  it,  not  in 


142  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

epitome,  but  at  full  length,  in  the  Transac- 
tions, and  also  begged  me  to  publish  it  as 
a  separate  pamphlet.  I  was,  of  course, 
howled  at  as  a  hopeless  Philistine  by  all 
who  were  stereotyped  in  the  old  classical 
system.  That  is  a  result  which  invariably 
follows  the  enunciation  of  new  truths  or 
plans  for  necessary  reform. 

But  the  lecture  produced  a  marked  effect. 
At  that  time  there  was  certainly  not  more 
than  one  well-known  school  which  had  a 
"  Science  Master ;  "  now  there  is  scarcely  a 
school  of  note  which  has  not.  Then  the 
"Latin  verse"  system  —  which  for  most  boys 
was  almost  abysmally  useless,  or  which,  at 
the  best,  only  produced  very  indirect  results 
-  was  in  all  but  universal  practice  ;  now  it 
is  almost  entirely  abandoned.  This  is  not 
the  only  battle  in  my  life  in  which  outbursts 
of  ridicule  and  anathema  have  been  wholly 
fruitless  to  hinder  progress  in  a  cause  which 
I  had  ventured  to  plead  at  a  time  when  it 
was  new  and  entirely  unpopular. 

I  had  one  reward  in  the  lifelong  pleasure 
of  enjoying  some  intercourse  with  men  who 


CHARLES  DAR  WIN.  143 

hailed  my  advocacy  with  the  highest  ap- 
proval. It  was  in  consequence  of  this,  and 
events  which  followed,  that  I  first  received 
the  following  very  interesting  letter  from  Mr. 
Darwin.  He  wrote:  — 

March  5,  1887. 

MY  DEAR  SIR,  — I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you  for 
your  kind  present  of  your  lecture.  We  have  read  it 
aloud  with  the  greatest  interest,  and  I  agree  to  every 
word.  1  admire  your  candor  and  wonderful  freedom 
from  prejudice  ;  for  I  feel  an  inward  conviction  that  if 
I  had  been  a  great  classical  scholar  I  should  never 
have  been  able  to  have  judged  fairly  on  the  subject. 
As  it  is,  I  am  one  of  the  root  and  branch  men,  and 
would  leave  classics  to  be  learnt  by  those  who  have 
sufficient  zeal  and  the  high  taste  requisite  for  their  ap- 
preciation. You  have  indeed  done  a  great  public  ser- 
vice by  speaking  out  so  boldly.  Scientific  men  might 
rail  for  ever,  and  it  would  only  be  said  that  they  railed 
at  what  they  did  not  understand.  I  was  at  school  at 
Shrewsbury  under  a  great  scholar,  Dr.  Butler.  I  learnt 
absolutely  nothing  except  by  amusing  myself  by  read- 
ing and  experimenting  in  chemistry.  Dr.  Butler  some- 
how found  this  out,  and  publicly  sneered  at  me  before 
the  whole  school  for  such  gross  waste  of  time.  I  re- 
member he  called  me  a  Poco  eurante,  which  not  under- 
standing I  thought  was  a  dreadful  name. 

I  wish  you  had  shown  in  your  lecture  how  science 
could  practically  be  taught  in  a  great  school.  I  have 
often  heard  it  objected  that  this  could  not  be  done,  and 


144  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

I  never  knew  what  to  say  in  answer.  I  heartily  hope 
that  you  may  live  to  see  your  zeal  and  labor  produce 
good  fruit ;  and  with  my  best  thanks,  I  remain,  my 
dear  sir,  yours  verv  sincerely, 

CHARLES  DARWIN. 

It  will,  I  think,  be  agreed  that  this  letter 
has  something  of  an  historic  interest  in  the 
annals  of  English  education.  With  regard 
to  the  difficulty  stated  by  Mr.  Darwin,  one 
may  now  say  solvitur  ambulando ;  for  now 
there  is  no  large  school  that  does  not  offer 
its  pupils  the  opportunity  of  acquiring  some 
practical  and  experimental  knowledge  of 
science,  whereas  formerly  chemistry  itself 
used  to  be  sweepingly  described  by  boys 
under  the  one  comprehensive  designation 
of  "  Stinks."  Darwin's  nickname  at  school 
was  "  Gas."  The  mistake  of  Dr.  Butler  of 
Shrewsbury  with  regard  to  the  greatest  intel- 
lect which  ever  passed  under  his  tuition  was, 
of  course,  a  vitium  temporis  non  hominis. 
And  I  think  I  may  add  that  Mr.  Darwin's 
kind  wish  has  been  fulfilled,  and  that  I  have 
"  lived  to  see  the  fruits  of  my  labor." 

In   1871    Mr.  Darwin  very  kindly  sent  me 


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CHARLES  DAR  WIN.  145 

his  Descent  of  Man.  I  had  sent  him  my 
Origin  of  Language,  in  which  he  had  been 
greatly  interested,  as  the  following  letter  will 
show :  — 

DOWN,  BROMLEY,  KENT, 
November  2nd. 

DEAR  SIR,  —  As  I  have  never  studied  the  science 
of  language,  it  may  perhaps  be  presumptuous,  but  I 
cannot  resist  the  pleasure  of  telling  you  what  interest 
and  pleasure  I  have  derived  from  hearing  read  aloud 
your  volume. 

I  formerly  read  Max  Muller,  and  thought  his  theory 
(if  it  deserves  to  be  called  so)  both  obscure  and  weak ; 
and  now,  after  hearing  what  you  say,  I  feel  sure  that 
this  is  the  case,  and  that  your  cause  will  ultimately 
triumph. 

My  indirect  interest  in  your  book  has  been  in- 
creased from  Mr.  Hensleigh  Wedgwood,  whom  you 
often  quote,  being  my  brother-in-law. 

No  one  could  dissent  from  my  views  on  the  modi- 
fication of  species  with  more  courtesy  than  you  do. 
But  from  the  tenor  of  your  mind  I  feel  an  entire  and 
comfortable  conviction  (and  which  cannot  possibly  be 
disturbed),  that  if  your  studies  led  you  to  attend  much 
to  general  questions  in  Natural  History,  you  would 
come  to  the  same  conclusions  that  I  have  done. 

Have  you  ever  read  Huxley's  little  book  of  Six 
Lectures  ?  I  would  gladly  send  you  a  copy  if  you 
think  you  would  read  it. 

Considering  what  geology  teaches  us,  the  argument 
for  the  supposed  immutability  of  specific  types  seems 


1 46  MEN  /  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

to  me  much  the  same  as  if,  in  a  nation  which  had  no 
old  writings,  some  wise  old  savage  was  to  say  that  his 
language  had  never  changed  ;  but  my  metaphor  is  too 
long  to  fill  up. 

Pray,  believe  me,  dear  sir,  yours  very  sincerely 
obliged, 

CH.  DARWIN. 

Acknowledging  his  gift  of  the  Descent  of 
Man,  I  saicl  that  one  insuperable  difficulty 
in  the  acceptance  of  his  theories  was,  that 
from  all  I  had  ever  read  about  anthropol- 
ogy, and  from  all  my  studies  in  compara- 
tive philology,  it  seemed  to  me  indisputable 
that  different  germs  of  language  and  differ- 
ent types  of  race  were  traceable  from  the 
farthest  prehistoric  days.  The  argument 
has,  since  then,  been  indefinitely  strength- 
ened by  the  discovery  of  the  earliest  known 
skulls  and  remains  of  primeval  races,  which 
show  that,  even  in  those  immeasurably  dis- 
tant days,  there  were  higher  and  lower 
types  of  humanity.  Mr.  Darwin  admitted 
the  fact,  but  made  this  very  striking  an- 
swer :  "  You  are  arguing  from  the  last  page 
of  a  volume  of  many  thousands  of  pages'' 

I  only  actually  met  Mr.  Darwin  once,  at 


THOMAS    H.    HUXLEY. 


CHARLES  DAR  WIN.  147 

the  house  of  his  son-in-law,  my  old  friend, 
Mr.  R.  B.  Litchfield.  I  was  deeply  struck  by 
his  sweet  and  simple  dignity.  It  exactly  cor- 
responded with  the  estimate  of  his  character 
which  I  had  formed  from  the  noble  patience 
and  reticence  with  which  he  had  borne  the 
savage  and  tumultuous  attacks  of  hosts  of 
ecclesiastical  enemies.  They  had  no  terms 
of  reprehension  sufficiently  strong  for  him  ; 
and  their  favorite  witticism  (?)  was  that  he 
had  not  proved  the  development  of  the  ape 
into  a  man,  but  had  exemplified  the  degen- 
eracy of  man  into  the  ape  !  When  Darwin 
died,  I  happened  to  see  Professor  Huxley 
and  Mr.  W.  Spottiswoode  in  deep  and  ear- 
nest conversation  at  the  Athenaeum. 

I  asked  them  why  no  memorial  had  been 
sent  to  the  Dean  of  Westminster,  requesting 
that  one  who  had  been  an  honor  to  his 
age  should  be  buried  in  the  great  historic 
Abbey. 

"There  is  nothing  which  we  should  like  so 

«j 

much,"  said  Professor  Huxley.  "  Nothing 
would  be  more  fitting ;  it  is  the  subject  on 
which  we  were  talking.  But  we  did  not 


148  MEN  I  HA  I'E  KNO  WN. 

mean  to  make  the  request,  for  we  felt  sure  it 
would  be  refused." 

I  replied,  with  a  smile,  "  that  we  clergy 
were  not  all  so  bigoted  as  he  supposed ;  " 
and  that,  though  I  had  no  authority  to  an- 
swer for  the  Dean,  I  felt  no  doubt  that,  if  a 
memorial  were  sent  to  him,  the  permission 
would  be  accorded.  I  said  that  I  would  con- 
sult the  Dean,  and  let  them  know  at  once. 
Leave  was  given.  I  was  asked  to  be  one  of 
the  pall-bearers,  with  nine  men  of  much 
greater  distinction — Sir  J.  Lubbock,  Profes- 
sor Huxley,  Mr.  J.  R.  Lowell,  Mr.  A.  R. 
Wallace,  the  Dukes  of  Devonshire  and 
Argyll,  the  late  Earl  of  Derby,  Sir  J.  Hooker, 
and  Mr.  \V.  Spottisvvoode ;  and  on  the  Sun- 
day evening  I  preached  at  the  Nave  Service 
the  funeral  sermon  of  the  great  author  of 
"  the  Darwinian  hypothesis." 

Ecclesiasticism  was  offended  ;  but  if  what 
God  requires  of  us  is  "to  do  justly,  and  to' 
love  mercy,  and  to  walk  humbly  with  him," 
I  would  rather  take  my  chance  in  the  future 
life  with  such  a  man  as  Charles  Darwin,  than 
with  many  thousands  who,  saying,  "  Lord, 


JOHN    TYNDALL. 


FACSIM.LE    OF    A    PAGE    OF    PROF.    TYNDALL'S    MS.,    REDUCED. 


PROFESSOR  TYNDALL.  149 

Lord,"  and  wearing  the  broadest  of  phylac- 
teries, show  very  faint  conceptions  of  honor, 
kindness,  or  the  love  of  truth,  and  exhibit  an 
attitude  of  absolute  antithesis  to  the  most 
elementary  Christian  virtues. 

My  lecture  on  Public  School  Education 
was  followed  by  another  on  Jan.  31,  1868; 
by  various  papers  in  magazines  ;  by  various 
speeches;  by  a  volume  of  Essays  which  1 
edited,  and  which  were  contributed  by  Mr. 
C.  S.  Parker,  M.P.,  Lord  Houghton,  Arch- 
deacon Wilson,  Professor  Sedgwick,  Pro- 
fessor Seeley,  Professor  Hales,  and  myself. 
But  perhaps  the  chief  effect  of  the  initi- 
ative I  had  taken  was  that  I  was  asked  to 
read  a  paper  on  the  subject  at  the  meet- 
ing of  the  British  Association  in  Notting- 
ham, 1867.  At  the  reading  of  that  paper 
many  scientific  men  were  present.  The 
British  Association  granted  my  request  to 
form  a  committee  on  the  subject  of  Pub- 
lic School  Education.  The  members  of  the 
committee  were  Professors  Tyndall  and  Hux- 
ley, Archdeacon  Wilson  (then  a  master  at 


150  MEN  I  HA  VE  R'NO  \VN. 

Rugby),  the  late  Sir  VV.  Grove,  Mr.  Grif- 
fiths, secretary  of  the  Association,  and  my- 
self. I  remember  a  delightful  dinner  at  my 
house  at  Harrow,  at  which,  among  others, 
Tyndall,  Huxley,  and  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer 
were  present,  when  we  discussed  the  sub- 
ject. Another  of  our  meetings  was  at  Pro- 
fessor Huxley's,  where  we  dined,  and  where 
I  remember  that  Sir  W.  Grove,  illustrating 
the  general  ignorance  of  the  most  ordinary 
matters  of  science,  said  that  he  had  once 
vainly  challenged  any  one  of  a  society  of 
gentlemen  to  tell  him  accurately  the  dif- 
ference between  a  barometer  and  a  ther- 
mometer! As  a  result  of  the  discussion, 
Archdeacon  Wilson  and  I  drew  up  a  report, 
which  was  freely  annotated  by  the  other 
members,  especially  by  PROFESSOR  TYNDALL. 
This  report  was  accepted  and  printed  by 
the  British  Association.  The  consensus  of 
opinion  in  favor  of  our  views  grew  constantly 
stronger,  and  the  futile  character  of  the  old 
public  school  curriculum  has  been  so  far 
amended  that  it  is  no  longer  a  subject  of 
regret  and  complaint. 


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PROFESSOR  HUXLEY.  151 

I  continued  to  know  and  to  meet  PROFES- 
SOR HUXLEY  for  many  years  and  on  many 
occasions.  I  sometimes  met  him  in  com- 
pany with  Mr.  Matthew  Arnold,  and  nothing 
could  be  more  delightful  than  the  conversa- 
tion elicited  by  their  contrasted  individuali- 
ties. I  remember  a  walk  which  I  once  took 
with  them  both  through  the  pleasant  grounds 
of  Pain's  Hill,  where  Mr.  Arnold's  cottage 
was.  He  was  asking  Huxley  whether  he 
liked  going  out  to  dinner-parties,  and  the 
professor  answered  that  as  a  rule  he  did  not 
like  it  at  all. 

"Ah,"  said' Mr.  Arnold,  "I  rather  like  it. 
It  is  rather  nice  to  meet  people." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  replied  Huxley;  "  but  we  are 
not  all  such  everlasting  Cupids  as  you  !  " 

I  sometimes  had  very  earnest  and  delight- 
ful conversations  with  Professor  Huxley  on 
religious  subjects,  and  I  always  found  him 
perfectly  open-minded,  reverent,  and  candid. 
But  in  his  case,  as  in  the  case  of  other 
eminent  men  of  science  and  literature,  I 
found  that  his  conceptions  as  to  what  the 
clergy  are  bound  to  believe  and  maintain 


152  MEN  I  HA  VK  KXO  \VN. 

were  exceedingly  wide  of  the  mark.  He 
imagined  that  we  are  compelled  to  defend 
a  great  many  opinions,  especially  with  refer- 
ence to  parts  of  the  Old  Testament,  which 
might  possibly  have  represented  the  views 
of  a  hundred  years  ago,  but  which  are  now 
repudiated  even  by  learned  archbishops  and 
bishops. 

When  I  showed  him  that  some  difficulties 
and  objections  to  parts  of  the  Christian  creed 
which  loomed  large  upon  his  mind  had  no 
connection  with  the  faith  at  all  ;  that  they 
affected  beliefs  which  had  never  been  in- 
corporated into  any  catholic  •formula  ;  that 
some  of  the  statements  which  he  impugned 
were  the  mere  accretions  of  ignorance,  the 
errors  of  superstition,  and  the  inventions  of 
erring  system,  —  he  would  listen  indeed  with 
sincere  interest,  and  promise  to  consider  the 
points  of  view  which  I  had  tried  to  explain, 
but  which  were  wholly  new  to  him. 

I  always  fancied  that  he  retained  the  no- 
tion that,  while  what  I  urged  might  repre- 
sent the  views  of  a  few  of  the  clergy,  they 
were  the  reverse  of  the  views  of  the  many. 


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PROFESSOR  HUXLEY.  153 

I  failed,  I  fear,  to  convince  him  that  Chris- 
tianity is  one  thing,  and  that  current  opin- 
ions about  Christianity  may  be  quite  another. 
But  conversations  with  him  left  on  my  mind 
the  deep  impression  that  what  many  men 
dislike  is  not  in  the  least  the  doctrine  and 
the  revelation  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  but 
something  which  has  no  necessary  connec- 
tion with  it,  and  is  sometimes  a  mere  mummy 
painted  in  its  guise. 


VI. 

A   GROUP   OF   EMINENT   AMERICANS. 

OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES  ;  J.  R.  LOWELL  ; 
J.  GKEENLEAF  WIIITTIER  J  BISHOP  PHILLIPS 
BROOKS  J  GEORGE  W.  GUILDS  |  CYRUS  W. 
FIELD. 

Two  eminent  Americans  whom  I  should 
have  greatly  liked  to  know  were  dead  be- 
fore I  visited  America. 

RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON  I  never  saw. 
He  is  known  to  me  solely  by  his  brilliant 
Essays,  his  poetry,  the  interesting  records  of 
his  intercourse  with  Carlyle,  and  the  careful 
appreciation  of  his  genius  by  Mr.  Matthew 
Arnold.  Perhaps  this  appreciation -- de- 
livered as  a  lecture  in  America  —  was  less 
warm  than  the  Americans  would  have  de- 
sired. On  delivering  it  at  New  York,  Mr. 
Arnold  apologized  for  expressing  himself 
frankly,  even  if  his  estimate  seemed  inade- 

154 


RALPH  M'ALDO  EMERSON.         155 

quate.  He  told  me  that  the  great  orator, 
Wendell  Phillips,  was  present  on  this  occa- 
sion, and  in  proposing  a  vote  of  thanks  to 
the  lecturer  used  the  striking  expression, 
"  Mr.  Arnold  has  not  the  least  need  to 
apologize  for  speaking  exactly  as  he  feels. 
One  must  toe  the  line,  even  if  tJie  chips  fly 
in  one's  face." 

HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW  I  once 
met,  on  the  occasion  of  his  visit  to  Eng- 
land. It  was  at  the  great  dinner  given  in 
his  Honor  at  the  Langham  Hotel.  At  that 
dinner  Mr.  Gladstone  was  present,  and  the 
Duke  of  Argyll,  and  Admiral  Farragut,  and 
many  illustrious  Englishmen  and  Americans. 
I  was  then  a  young  man,  and  do  not  know 
to  what  circumstance  I  owed  the  honor  of 
an  invitation.  There  were  to  have  been  no 
speeches  ;  chiefly,  I  believe,  because  Long- 
fellow—  in  that  respect  like  Robert  Browning, 
but  unlike  the  majority  of  his  countrymen 
-felt  insuperable  difficulties  in  making  a 
speech.  But  as  Mr.  Gladstone  was  present, 
the  desire  of  many  to  hear  him  got  the 


156  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

better  of  the  rule,  and  he  proposed  Long- 
fellow's health.  The  menu  card  had  pho- 
tographs of  Longfellow  and  his  home,  and 
quotations  from  his  poems.  It  was  very 
interesting ;  and  I  suppose  I  still  possess  it 
"somewhere,  if  one  knew  but  where." 

I  remember  that  I  sat  next  to  a  near 
kinsman  of  the  guest  of  the  evening,  who 
told  me  many  interesting  particulars  about 
him.  It  is  pleasant  to  me  to  know  that 
though  I  was  never  introduced  to  the  ven- 
erable poet,  he  spoke  very  kindly  about  me 
to  common  friends,  and  once  expressed  his 
pleasure  at  helping  to  gather  a  gift  of  dried 
leaves  from  his  garden,  sent  me  by  a  lady 
who  knew  us  both  —  leaves  of  every  hue 
of  purple  and  gold  and  crimson — during  a 
season  when,  in  America,  autumn  had,  with 
unusual  splendor,  folded  - 

his  jewelled  arms 
Around  the  dying  year. 

My  acquaintance  with  the  witty  and  viva- 
cious "Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast  Table" 
OLIVER  WENDELL   HOLMES  —  was  begun   in 


396.BeaconStre«t. 


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^ 


OLIVER   WENDELL  HOLMES.         157 

a  most  interesting-  way.  When  my  sermons 
on  "  Eternal  Hope "  were  published,  they 
fell  into  the  poet's  hands.  They  expressed, 
and  as  he  thought  demonstrated,  a  view  of 
which  he  had  always  been  profoundly  con- 
vinced, but  which  —  at  that  time,  though  it 
is  different  now  —  was  thought  heretical  in 
America,  except  among  Universalists.  After 
reading  my  book,  he  sent  me  the  interesting 
letter  here  reproduced. 

The  pamphlet  which  he  sent  me  was  a 
very  eloquent  and  interesting  paper  of  his 
on  Jonathan  Edwards,  written  with  that  in- 
imitable grace  which  marked  so  many  of 
his  prose  writings  no  less  than  his  poetry. 
Afterwards,  when  I  met  him  in  America,  he 
told  me  that  in  writing  to  me,  an  entire 
stranger  at  that  time,  he  had  broken  a  rule 
of  his  life,  which  had  been  never  to  write  to 
any  one  whom  he  did  not  personally  know. 

I  first  met  him  at  Boston,  at  a  small  but 
most  interesting  dinner  of  the  very  select 
literary  society  in  that  city,  known  as 
"The  Saturday  Club."  I  went  with  Phillips 
Brooks.  O.  W.  Holmes,  his  son  Judge 


158  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

Holmes,  Mr.  Lowell,  Mr.  Winthrop,  and 
other  distinguished  men,  were  present.  I 
sat  next  to  Mr.  Holmes,  and  found  his 
conversation  most  interesting.  He  talked 
a  great  deal  about  Walt  Whitman.  He 
seemed  to  think  that  he  had  been  greatly 
overestimated,  and,  though  he  had  sent  a 
subscription  to  relieve  his  poverty,  vehe- 
mently disapproved  of  some  passages  in 
his  Leaves  of  Grass. 

When  he  visited  England,  in  1886,  I  saw 
him  on  several  occasions,  which  he  has 
kindly  mentioned  in  his  Our  Hundred 
Days  in  Europe.  I  lunched  with  him  at 
the  Speaker's -- Viscount  Peel's;  and  he 
dined  with  us  at  a  very  pleasant  party,  at 
which  the  guests  were  Sir  John  and  Lady 
Millais,  Professor  Tyndall,  Sir  John  and 
Lady  Lubbock,  the  American  Ambassador 
and  Mrs.  Phelps,  the  Dean  of  Westminster, 
Sir  W.  Overend  and  Mrs.  Priestley,  and 
others. 

I  had  the  great  pleasure  of  showing  him 
and  his  daughter,  Mrs.  Sargent,  over  West- 
minster Abbey.  He  was  an  old  man,  and 


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OLIVER    WENDELL  HOLMES.         159 

his  diminutive  figure  perhaps  showed  that 
he  could  never  have  had  great  physical 
strength.  It  is  a  fatiguing  thing  to  go  over 
the  Abbey;  and  he  undoubtedly  felt  tired, 
and  was  glad  to  get  back  to  my  house 
for  a  cup  of  tea.  But  he  has  recorded  the 
intense  pleasure  the  visit  gave  him,  and  he 
told  me  that  he  thought  those  two  hours 

<j 

"  in  the  great  Temple  of  Silence  and  Recon- 
ciliation "  were  among  the  most  interesting 
he  had  ever  spent.  He  mentions  also  the 
curious  fact  that  we  are  often  more  struck 
by  little  things  than  by  great.  "  Amidst 
the  imposing  recollections  of  the  ancient 
edifice,"  he  writes,  "  one  impressed  me  in 
the  inverse  ratio  of  its  importance.  The 
Archdeacon  pointed  out  the  little  holes  on 
the  stones  [of  the  cloister  benches]  where 
the  boys  of  the  choir  [he  should  have  said 
"  of  the  Monastic  School "]  used  to  play 
marbles,  before  America  was  discovered 
probably  —  centuries  before,  it  may  be.  It 
is  a  strangely  impressive  glimpse  of  a  living 
past,  like  the  graffiti  of  Pompeii." 

When  my  dear  son,   Cyril   Lytton   Farrar, 


1  GO  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

died  at  Peking,  at  the  age  of  twenty-one, 
Mr.  Holmes  wrote  for  me  the  quatrain  which 
is  carved  on  his  memorial  tablet  in  St. 
Margaret's.  I  give  a  facsimile  of  his  beau- 
tiful lines. 

I  never  knew  Mr.  JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL 
so  intimately  as  1  knew  O.  W.  Holmes,  but 
when  he  was  the  American  Ambassador  I 
frequently  met  him  both  at  public  and  pri- 
vate dinners.  I  also  met  him  at  the  Sat- 
urday Club  at  Boston.  I  heard  not  a  few 
of  those  brilliant  little  after-dinner  speeches, 
in  which  he  was  always  singularly  happy. 
When  the  Coleridge  bust  was  unveiled  at 
Westminster  Abbey,  he  gave  the  address, 
in  the  Chapter  House,  not  far  from  the 
spot  where  his  own  memorial  was  soon  to 
be  placed.  There  is  some  quality  about  the 
human  voice  which  causes  peculiar  intona- 
tions of  it  to  linger  for  years  in  the  memory, 
and  I  shall  never  forget  the  sort  of  vivid 
picture  which  he  called  up  before  my  imagi- 
nation as  he  quoted  Coleridge's  beautiful 
description  of  a  very  common  scene,  — 


s.w. 


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JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL.  161 

Beneath  yon  birch,  with  silver  bark, 
And  boughs  so  pendulous  and  fair, 

The  brook  falls  scattered  down  the  rock, 
And  all  is  mossy  there. 

I  have  often  talked  with  Mr.  Lowell  about 
literary  subjects,  but  his  conversations  have 
not  impressed  themselves  on  my  recollection. 
When  the  fine  west  window  to  Sir  Walter 
Raleiofh,  "  the  Father  of  the  United  States," 

*z_> 

was  given  to  me  by  Americans  to  commem- 
orate the  fact  that  the  headless  body  of 
that  brilliant  explorer  lies  buried  in  St. 
Margaret's,  Westminster,  I  chose  Mr.  Lowell 
(who  was  then  the  American  Ambassador) 
as  the  fittest  poet  to  write  the  memorial 
quatrain.  I  sent  him  at  the  same  time  the 
four  lines  which  Lord  Tennyson  had  written 
for  me  to  be  engraved  under  the  window 

«z> 

which  the  printers  of  London  presented  to 
me  in  memory  of  the  first  great  English 
printer,  who  lies  buried  in  the  same  church. 
I  am  able  to  give  a  facsimile  of  Mr. 
Lowell's  letter  and  lines. 

Mr.  Lowell  was  present  at  the  sermon 
which  I  preached  after  the  unveiling  of  the 


1G2  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

window.  I  had  occasion  in  the  discourse 
to  mention  his  name  and  quote  his  lines. 
He  was  sitting  just  under  me  in  the 
Speaker's  pew,  and  told  me  afterwards, 
when  he  lunched  with  us,  that  to  hear 
himself  spoken  of  as  I  had  done  made  him 
as  nervous  as  an  M.P.  might  be  supposed 
to  be  when  he  is  "  named  "  by  the  Speaker 
in  the  House  of  Commons ! 

With  the  Quaker  poet,  JOHN  GREENLEAF 
WHITTIER,  I  spent  part  of  a  delightful  day, 
in  his  own  house,  with  Dr.  Phillips  Brooks. 
I  had  a  warm  admiration  for  the  venerable 
poet.  He  has,  in  his  verses,  given  splendid 
expression  to  the  convictions  which  I  tried  to 
set  forth  in  Eternal  Hope.  He  was  one  of 
the  most  modest  and  most  saintly  men  I  ever 
saw.  The  deepest,  yet  most  tolerant,  reli- 
gious feeling  breathes  through  all  his  poems, 
from  those  of  his  early  youth  to  those  writ- 
ten in  advanced  age.  I  was  further  drawn 
to  him  by  the  noble  passion  with  which,  all 
his  life  long,  he  had  thrown  himself  into 
every  movement  in  the  cause  of  humanity 


- — s 


JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHTTTIER.       16-3 

and  mercy.  Further,  I  found  in  his  writings 
a  far  nearer  approach  to  the  true  religion  of 
Christ  than  I  did  in  most  books  professedly 
religious.  Of  course  Mr.  Whittier  was,  in 
one  sense,  not  a  very  great  poet ;  he  did  not 
stand  in  the  front  line.  Some  of  his  poems 
lack  intensity  and  compression.  But  his  best 
verses  will  undoubtedly  live.  What  concen- 
trated force  there  is  in  his  lines  on  the  great 
orator,  Daniel  Webster,  after  the  sort  of 
volte-face  through  which  he  went  on  the  sub- 
ject of  slavery  when  he  became  a  candidate 
for  the  Presidency  :  — 


So  fallen  !    so  lost !    the  light  withdrawn 

Which  once  he  wore  ! 
The  glory  from  his  gray  hairs  gone 

For  evermore  ! 

All  else  is  gone !   from  those  great  eyes 

The  soul  has  fled  : 
When  faith  is  lost,  when  honor  dies, 

The  man  is  dead ! 


Again,   how   marvellously   touching   are    his 
lines  in  contemplation  of  death  !  - 


1  fU  MEN  1  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

When  on  my  day  of  life  the  night  is  falling, 

And,  in  the  winds  from  unsunned  spaces  blown, 
I  hear  far  voices  out  of  darkness,  calling 
My  feet  to  paths  unknown, 

I  have  but  Thee,  my  Father !    let  Thy  Spirit 

Be  with  me  then  to  comfort  and  uphold ; 
No  gate  of  pearl,  no  branch  of  palm  I  merit, 
Nor  street  of  shining  gold. 

Suffice  it  if,  my  good  and  ill  unreckoned, 

And     both    forgiven     through     Thy     abounding 

grace, 

I  find  myself  by  hands  familiar  beckoned 
Unto  my  fitting  place  : 

Some  humble  door,  amid  Thy  many  mansions, 
Some    sheltering   shade    where    sin   and  striving 

cease, 

And  flows  for  ever  through  Heaven's  green  expan- 
sions 
The  river  of  Thy  peace ! 

Mr.  Whittier's  home  was  as  simple  and 
unpretending  as  it  could  possibly  be,  yet  all 
about  it  there  was  an  indescribable  air  of  re- 
finement. No  one  was  at  luncheon  except 
Phillips  Brooks  and  myself;  and  though  the 
meal  was  as  plain  as  possible,  it  was  truly  de- 
lightful. We  were  waited  upon  by  the  poet's 


JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER.        165 

niece ;  and  I  felt  so  uneasy  at  seeing  her 
come  in  with  the  dishes  and  hand  us  the 
plates,  that  at  last  I  said,  — 

"  This  is  a  reversal  of  the  proper  order  of 
things  !  What  we  ought  to  do  is  to  wait  on 
the  young  lady,  not  she  on  us." 

"  Not  at  all !  "  said  Mr.  Whittier.  "  You 
are  the  o-uests;  there  is  nothing  in  the  small- 

o  o 

est  degree  derogatory  in  a  young  lady  enjoy- 
ing the  pleasure  of  waiting  on  you.  This  is 
our  old  simple  New  England  custom." 

We  had  to  be  content!  Immediately  after 
the  meal  the  young  lady  put  on  her  riding- 
habit,  and  mounting  her  horse,  which  was 
led  to  the  door,  she  went  for  a  ride  with 
the  young  gentleman  to  whom  she  was  en- 
gaged. 

After  lunch  I  asked  Mr.  Whittier  to  sign 
for  me  his  photograph.  This  led  to  a  con- 
versation about  autographs.  He  said  that 
the  number  of  letters  in  the  year  which  he 
received,  asking  for  his  autograph,  was  im- 
mense, and  at  last  became  embarrassing. 
This  I  can  easily  imagine  ;  for  in  America, 
at  one  time,  there  was  such  a  rage  for  auto- 


16G  MEN  I  HA  !'/•:  K.\O  WN. 

graphs  that  I  have  often  had  birthday  books, 
etc.,  left  in  a  carriage  which  was  merely 
standing  at  the  door  of  a  shop  into  which 
I  had  gone  to  buy  something !  He  asked 
Emerson  how  he  treated  requests  for  his 
autograph.  Emerson  said  that  he,  at  one 
time,  always  sent  his  autograph  to  any  one 
who  wrote  to  ask  for  it.  Hut  when  the 
applications  came  to  be  counted  by  hun- 
dreds, he  had  ceased  to  do  so. 

"  But  what  do  you  do,"  asked  Whittier, 
"  when  they  enclose  stamps  ?  " 

"  Oh,"  said  Emerson,  "  tlie  stamps  come  in 
handy  /  " 

This,  however,  was  a  bolder  impropriation 
than  the  conscience  of  the  Quaker  poet  could 
permit,  and  whenever  a  stamped  envelope 
came  he  enclosed  his  signature  in  it. 

I  give  the  facsimile  of  a  letter  from  Mr. 
Whittier  to  my  friend,  the  famous  philan- 
thropist, Mr.  George  W.  Childs,  together 
with  the  quatrain  which  he  wrote  for  the 
Milton  window  in  St.  Margaret's.  Of  this 
window  Mr.  Childs  was  the  donor,  and  I 
asked  Mr.  Whittier  to  write  the  inscription. 


, 


GEORGE    W.   CHILDS.  167 

MR.  GEORGE  W.  GUILDS  was  for  many 
years  the  owner  of  the  Public  Ledger,  one 
of  the  most  honorable  of  the  American 
papers.  He  never  made  any  secret  of  the 
fact  that  he  had  risen  from  the  very  hum- 
blest and  lowest  position.  I  believe  he 
once  swept  out  the  office  as  a  penniless 
office-boy.  By  conduct  and  character  he 
rose  rapidly  to  wealth,  influence,  and  uni- 
versal respect.  I  never  knew  a  kindlier, 
more  large-hearted,  or  more  lovable  man. 
I  was  his  guest  at  Philadelphia,  and  I  met 
him  at  dinner  at  Mr.  Vanderbilt's,  and  in 
other  houses.  He  gave  me  two  memorable 
receptions.  One  was  to  the  clergy,  .black 
and  white  and  of  all  denominations,  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Philadelphia,  to  the  num- 
ber of  seven  hundred.  Not  a  few  of  them 
were  very  poor,  and  the  large  and  loving 
heart  of  Mr.  Childs  delighted  in  showing 
them  an  act  of  kindness.  I  was  also  the 
guest  of  the  evening  at  an  entertainment 
to  which  he  had  invited  all  the  numerous 
representatives  of  the  press  in  Philadelphia 
and  the  neighborhood. 


16S  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

I  had  the  difficult  task  of  addressing  them 
almost  on  the  spur  of  the  moment ;  and  I 
spoke  of  the  immense  power  which  they 
wielded,  and  the  awful  temptations  to  abuse 
the  safeguard  of  anonymity  by  using  the 
poisoned  dagger  as  well  as  the  mask.  I 
spoke  of  the  intense  and  ruinous  pain 
which  a  single  careless  paragraph  in  a 
newspaper  might  cause.  Such  a  paragraph 
might  have  been  written  with  no  villanous 
intention,  but  merely  in  thoughtlessness  to 
make  "  copy,"  and  yet  might  be  reverber- 
ated a  millionfold,  as  if  through  a  colossal 
telephone,  microphone,  and  phonograph  all 
in  one.  And  I  told  the  pressmen,  in  all 
humility,  that  if  they  abused  the  enormous 
power  which  they  were  thus  enabled  to 
wield,  they  might  do  more  mischief  than 
the  madman,  who,  in  Scriptural  phrase, 
"  scatters  firebrands,  arrows,  and  death." 

Mr.  Childs  was  most  deeply  interested  in 
what  I  said  —  ordinary  as  it  was. 

"  From  the  first  day  that  I  owned  the 
Public  Ledger''  he  said  to  me,  "  I  made  up 
my  mind  that  nothing  mean  or  dishonor- 


GEORGE     WILLIAM     CHILDS. 


GEORGE    W.   CHILDS.  169 

able,  no  malignant  gossip,  no  debasing 
reports,  should  stain  its  pages.  To  that  I 
attribute  its  success ;  and  I  would  rather 
have  given  a  thousand  dollars  than  that  you 
should  not  have  said  what  you  did  to  our 
journalists." 

He  then  made  me  accept  a  gold  pocket- 
knife  and  a  gold  pencil-case,  which  I  possess 
to  this  day.  More  than  any  man  I  ever 
knew,  he  found  his  highest,  almost  his  ex- 
clusive, happiness  in  doing  works  of  per- 
sonal kindness  and  public  munificence.  He 
was  almost  the  only  living  man  (Dean  Stan- 
ley used  to  say)  who,  for  more  than  half  a 
century,  had  given  a  purely  spontaneous  gift 
to  Westminster  Abbey ;  the  gift  was  the 
beautiful  window  in  honor  of  the  poets 
George  Herbert  and  Cowper.  When  I  told 
Mr.  Childs  how  closely  Milton  had  been 
connected  with  St.  Margaret's,  Westminster, 
where  his  banns  of  marriage  were  published, 
and  where  his  dearest  wife  ("  my  late- 
espoused  saint")  and  infant  daughter  lie 
buried,  he  gladly  consented  to  give  a 
window  to  Milton's  memory.  When  it  was 


170  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

executed,  he  sent  at  once  the  sum  which  it 
cost  —  which  was,  I  believe,  more  than 
£600.  He,  too,  it  was  who  erected  the 
memorial  fountain  to  Shakespeare  at  Strat- 
ford-on-Avon,  and  the  memorial  windows  to 
Bishop  Ken  at  Winchester,  and  to  Keats. 
The  name  of  one  of  the  humblest  and  most 
unassuming  of  men  will  thus  be  permanently 
connected  with  some  of  the  noblest  and 
fairest  names  in  English  literature.  And 
what  was  very  remarkable  was,  that,  so  far 
from  making  much  of  his  munificence,  he  re- 
garded himself  as  indebted  to  those  who  had 
called  it  forth.  This  very  rare  characteristic 
will  be  illustrated  by  the  following  paragraph 
at  the  end  of  one  of  his  letters  to  me  :  - 

I  cannot  tell  you  the  intense  gratification  the  whole 
matter  has  given  me  personally,  and  I  thank  you  from 
the  bottom  of  my  heart  for  all  that  you  have  done  in 
the  matter.  I  prize  the  MS.,  and  will  have  it  superbly 

bound. 

With  cordial  regard, 

GEO.  W.  CHILDS. 

41 

Another  illustrious  American  whom  I 
knew,  and  who  was  twice  my  host,  was  MR. 


CYRUS   W.  FIELD.  171 

CYRUS  W.  FIELD,  to  whose  indomitable 
energy  and  perseverance  was  so  largely 
owing  the  laying  of  the  Atlantic  telegraph. 
It  was  he  who  in  1854  procured  a  charter  for 
the  submarine  telegraph  from  the  American 
continent  to  Newfoundland,  which  he  meant 
to  connect  with  the  cable  to  Valencia  in  Ire- 
land. He  devoted  many  years  and  a  large 
part  of  his  fortune  to  this  effort,  organized 
the  " Atlantic  Telegraph  Company"  in  1856, 
and  accompanied  the  expedition  sent  out  to 
lay  the  cable  in  1857  and  1858.  After  two 
failures  —  failures  which  would  have  been 
found  fatally  disheartening  to  most  men  - 
he  succeeded  ;  and  he  began  to  operate  with 
the  Atlantic  telegraph  in  August,  1866. 

I   was    his    guest    in    New    York,   and    he 
was  mine  more  than  once  in  England.      He 

o 

was  a  genial,  hearty,  hopeful  man,  and  a 
man,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  of  very  sincere 
and  simple  piety.  Some  writer  has  said 
that  many  a  man  would  do  one  a  kindness, 
yet  would  not  on  any  account  get  up  at 
seven  in  the  mornincr  to  make  himself  of 

c3 

use.     I   can   only  say  that,   when    I    arrived 


172  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNOWN. 

by  steamer  at  three  in  the  morning  at  New 
York,  the  streets  of  the  great  city  were 
empty  and  deserted,  but  Mr.  Cyrus  Field 
was  there  in  person  to  meet  me  with  his 
carriage !  I  remember  being  struck  with 
the  simplicity  with  which  his  nephew,  a 
fine  handsome  youth,  lifted  my  heavy  port- 
manteau, put  it  on  his  shoulder,  and  walked 
with  it  up  the  flight  of  steps  to  Mr.  Field's 
house,  and  then  to  my  room.  I  wondered 
whether  there  were  many  members  of  the 
families  of  millionaires  who  would  have 
turned  porter,  without  a  moment's  hesita- 
tion, and  with  such  delightful  simplicity! 

Mr.  Cyrus  Field  loaded  me  with  kindness, 
both  in  New  York  and  at  his  splendid  house 
on  the  Hudson  ;  and  he  asked  many  of  the 
most  distinguished  Americans  —  including 
one  ex-President  —  to  meet  me  at  dinner. 
I  went  with  him  to  the  Brooklyn  Taber- 
nacle, and  heard  a  sermon  from  Henry  Ward 
Beecher  which  I  still  vividly  remember,  for 
its  wit  (in  the  higher  sense),  power,  and 
large  humanitarian  philanthropy.  After  the 
service  I  went  with  Mr.  Field  to  Mr. 


DEAN     FAPRAR    AND     BISHOP    BROOKS. 


PHILLIPS  BROOKS.  173 

Beecher's  house  to  tea,  and  had  some  inter- 
esting conversation  with  him.  It  was  at  Mr. 
Field's  house  that  the  clergy  of  New  York 
of  all  denominations  presented  me  with  a 
very  kind  and  cordial  address  of  welcome 

—  their  spokesman  being  the  eloquent  and 
highly  respected  Rev.   Dr.  Storrs. 

One  more  great  American  I  must  mention 

—  my  dear  friend,  BISHOP  PHILLIPS  BROOKS. 
He  called  and  introduced  himself  to  me  in 
Dean's  Yard  at  Westminster,  about  the  time 
that  he  preached  his  sermon  in  the  Abbey 
on  "The  candle  of  the  Lord."     I  was  very 
deeply  struck  with  the   sermon,  and   at   my 
persuasion   he   published    it   with    others    in 
the  admirable  volume  to  which  it  gives  the 
title.     It   was    the   first    volume  of   sermons 
he  ever  published.     After  that  he   used  to 
preach  at  St.  Margaret's  whenever  he  came 
to    England.     He    was    the    fastest    public 
speaker    in  America    and    England ;    he    ut- 
tered two  hundred  and  thirteen  words  a  min- 
ute   in    the    pulpit,   and  was  the  despair  of 
reporters.       He    not    unfrequently    repeated 


174  MEN  I  HAVE  KNOWN. 

his  sermons  in  his  own  church  (in  which, 
like  many  English  visitors,  I  preached  for 
him).  It  was  well  that  he  could  do  so,  for 
his  discourses  were  unusually  full  of  thought 
and  power,  and  the  only  drawback  to  their 
magnificent  effect  was  the  lightning-like  pace 
at  which  they  were  enunciated.  I  asked  him 
if  he  could  not  correct  this  defect,  which 
made  it  difficult  for  some  of  his  hearers  to 
follow  him  ;  but  he  replied  that  it  was  not 
possible.  As  a  youth  he  had  suffered  from 
some  slight  vocal  difficulty,  and  it  was  only 
by  very  rapid  speaking  that  lie  could  get 
over  it.  If  space  permitted,  I  might  have 
much  to  tell  of  the  delightful  talks  I  had 
with  him  in  his  beautiful  bachelor  home  at 
Boston,  and  of  all  his  superabundant  kind- 
ness ;  but  I  will  here  pass  them  over. 

His  popularity  in  America  was  wonderful. 
I  travelled  with  him  to  Portland,  where  we 
both  were  guests  in  the  house  of  the  vener- 
able General  Neal  Dow  ;  to  Salem,  where  I 
looked  with  deep  interest  on  the  relics  of  the 
old  witch-hunting  days  ;  and  to  other  places. 
Whenever  we  came  to  a  town  where  there 


PHILLIPS  BROOKS.  175 

was  a  university  or  a  large  school,  I  invari- 
ably had  to  go  and  give  the  youths  an  ad- 
dress ;  and  when  I  had  finished,  they  always 
tumultuously  called  on  Phillips  Brooks  to 
say  something  too.  What  he  said  was  gen- 
erally quite  simple,  but  delighted  the  "  boys" 
by  its  large  kindliness  ;  and  his  hearty  greet- 
ings to  them  were  always  welcomed  with 
enthusiasm. 

There  were  tremendous  currents  of  op- 
posing feeling  when  he  was  elected  Bishop 
of  Massachusetts.  His  election  was  really 
carried  by  the  overpowering  enthusiasm  of 
the  laity,  especially  of  his  own  devoted 
people,  who  thronged  the  immense  and 
splendid  Trinity  Church,  Boston.  It  is  cer- 
tainly the  finest  church  in  America,  and  is 
a  standing  memorial  of  the  genius  of  the 
American  architect,  Richardson,  whom  I 
visited  with  Phillips  Brooks,  and  who  died 
soon  after.  But  the  warm  determination  of 
his  people  that  he  should  become  a  "  Right 
Reverend "  was  not,  I  think,  for  his  hap- 
piness. The  distinction  could  add  nothing 
to  his  immense  influence,  —  especially  over 


176  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  \VN. 

the  young,  —  or  to  his  genuine  greatness. 
The  virulence  of  the  attacks  made  upon  him 
pained  him  ;  and  the  work  which  his  new 
office  entailed  upon  him  was  overwhelming, 
and  destroyed  the  peaceful  happy  leisure 
which  had  been  his  delight.  His  admirably 
good-humored  lines  during  the  fury  of  the 
attacks  which  assailed  him  are  worth  re- 
cording. On  seeing  a  caricature  of  himself 
in  the  columns  of  a  certain  journal,  he 
wrote  :  — 

And  is  this  then  the  way  he  looks, 

This  tiresome  creature,   Phillips  Brooks  ? 

No  wonder,  if  'tis  thus  he  looks, 

The  Church  has  doubts  of  Phillips  I5rooks  ! 

Well,  if  he  knows  himself,  he'll  try 

To  give  these  doubtful  looks  the  lie. 

He  dares  not  promise,  but  will  seek 

Even  as  a  bishop  to  be  meek  ; 

To  walk  the  way  he  shall  be  shown, 

To  trust  a  strength  that's  not  his  own, 

To  fill  the  years  with  honest  work, 

To  serve  his  day  and  not  to  shirk  ; 

To  quite  forget  what  folks  have  said, 

To  keep  his  heart  and  keep  his  head, 

Until  men,  laying  him  to  rest, 

Shall  say,  "  At  least  he  did  his  best." 

Amen. 


PHILLIPS  BROOKS.  177 

I  fear  that  it  was  the  bishopric  which 
really  killed  him.  Being  a  bachelor,  there 
was  no  one  who  could  so  closely  look  after 
him,  and  prevent  him  from  being  over- 
worked, and  nurse  him  when  he  was  poorly, 
as  a  wife  would  have  done.  Colossal  frames 
like  his  —  he  was  six  feet  four,  and  pro- 
portionally broad  —  look  strong,  but  do  not 
wear  so  well  as  those  of  average  propor- 
tions. I  think  that  his  episcopal  work  tired 
him  severely,  and  he  died  prematurely,  to 
the  irreparable  loss  of  many  friends  in 
America  and  England,  in  consequence  of  a 
chill  caught  at  one  of  the  many  evening 
meetings  which  he  was  constantly  obliged 
to  attend. 

I  have  had  the  happiness  of  experien- 
cing great  kindness  at  the  hands  of  many 
friends,  both  among  the  rich  and  the  poor, 
the  unknown  and  the  famous.  I  never  met 
with  any  who  were  more  kind  and  generous 
than  those  whose  friendship  I  formed  or 
deepened,  and  whose  warm-hearted  hospi- 
tality I  enjoyed,  in  the  Western  World. 


VII. 

A    GROUP   OF    BISHOPS    AND   CARDINALS 

ARCHBISHOP  TAIT,  ARCHBISHOP  THOMSON,  ARCH- 
BISHOP BENSON,  CARDINAL  NEWMAN,  CARDI- 
NAL MANNING,  DR.  PUSEV,  CANON  LIDDON. 
DEAN  CHURCH. 

I  HAVE  had  the  advantage  of  knowing  — 

<*>  o 

and  in  some  cases  of  knowing  intimately  — 
many  of  the  leading  ecclesiastics  whose 
genius  and  piety  have  adorned  the  Victorian 
Era  ;  I  will  briefly  touch  upon  a  few  of  them 
in  this  chapter.  Of  many  of  them  I  could 
say  much  more  than  will  here  be  written. 
Naturally,  some  of  their  letters  to  me  were 
on  personal  matters,  or  contained  confidential 
passages :  it  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  that 
these  will  not  be  printed.  In  these  slight 
reminiscences  I  shall  reveal  nothing  private, 
and  shall  avoid  every  syllable  which  might 
give  pain. 

178 


ARCHBISHOP  TAIT.  179 

From  the  time  when  I  first  came  to  Lon- 
don, ARCHBISHOP  TAIT  was  conspicuously 
kind  to  me.  I  had  met  him  several  times 
as  Bishop  of  London,  and  when  I  was 
Master  of  Maryborough  College  he  and  his 
family  spent  some  days  in  the  same  hotel 
with  us  at  Miirren,  in  Switzerland.  I  there 
saw  a  good  deal  of  him ;  we  had  some 
strolls  together,  and  he  was  kindly  inter- 
ested in  a  sermon  which  I  preached  there. 
When  I  came  to  London,-  he  was  some- 
times our  guest  in  Dean's  Yard,  and  I  have 
stayed  with  him  at  Addington  Park,  and 
driven  and  walked  about  with  him.  One 
afternoon  the  rain  was  pouring,  and  we  all 
sat  in  the  drawing-room  reading  aloud  in 
turns  Justin  McCarthy's  History  of  Our  Own 
Times.  It  was  delightful  to  hear  the  wise 
and  often  witty  remarks  which  he  some- 
times interpolated.  His  noble  presence, 
invariable  kindness,  and  genial  wisdom  made 
him  a  man  of  men.  I  can  never  be  suffi- 
ciently grateful  for  acts  of  goodness  which 
I  cannot  record,  and  for  a  generous  appre- 
ciation which  often  supported  me  in  troub- 


1 80  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

lotis  times.  On  more  than  one  occasion 
sermons  and  speeches  of  mine  had  been 
misreported,  but  he  always  waited  for  the 
correct  version.  In  one  letter  he  says,  "  I 
have  read  the  correct  version  of  your  Man- 
sion House  speech  with  the  greatest  ad- 
miration ;  "  in  another,  "  I  thank  you  heartily 
for  the  part  you  took  in  the  Lambeth  Meet- 
ing. As  to  newspaper  reports  of  your  ser- 
mon, I  pay  no  attention  to  them." 

There  was  absolutely  nothing  artificial  or 
pompous  about  the  true  and  simple  dignity 
with  which  he  wore  his  high  honors.  He 
greatly  enjoyed  a  story,  and  was  much 
amused  at  an  anecdote  I  told,  in  a  meet- 
ing of  which  he  was  chairman,  about  a  Scot- 
tish divine,  who,  when  an  English  visitor 
expressed  surprise  at  the  organ  and  painted 
windows  in  his  Presbyterian  Church,  laid  his 
hand  on  the  visitor's  arm,  and  said,  with  the 
broad  Scottish  pronunciation, - 

Per  varies  fasits,  per  tot  discrimina  return 
Tendinuts  IN  LATIUM. 

In  his  own  speeches  there  were  often  little 


ARCHBISHOP  TATT.  181 

humorous  remarks,  such  a:;  "  You  know  that, 
at  my  age,  I  cannot  be  in  two  places  at  once." 
He  had  a  large  and  kindly  tolerance  for 
human  stupidity,  of  which  every  public  man 
sees  so  much  in  letters  written  by  strangers. 
Handing  back  such  letters  to  his  chaplain, 
he  used  to  say,  "  Tell  him  he  is  an  ass 
—  but  say  so  kindly'' 

I  preached  the  first  of  the  sermons  on 
"Eternal  Hope,"  in  1877.  It  was  a  very  wet 
afternoon  ;  and  as  I  walked  to  Westminster 
Abbey,  I  remember  thinking,  "  There  will 
be  a  very  small  congregation."  That  ser- 
mon, however,  little  as  I  dreamed  of  it, 
was  destined  to  produce  memorable  effects. 
It  was  instantly  reported,  in  most  imper- 
fect forms  ;  it  became  the  theme  of  uni- 
versal conversation  in  London  ;  and  it  quite 
literally  went  thrilling  through  the  world  ; 
for,  during  months  afterwards,  amid  a  per- 
fect chaos  of  abuse,  anathema,  and  refuta- 
tion on  all  sides,  I  also  received  grateful 

o 

letters  about  it  from  the  remotest  regions 
of  the  British  Empire,  and  from  mission- 
aries working  at  lonely  stations  in  the  heart 


1 82  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

of  Africa  and  of  Australia.  That  was  due, 
not  to  any  merits  of  the  sermon  itself,  but 
to  the  fact  that,  speaking  under  the  pres- 
sure of  painful  thoughts,  and  fresh  from 
the  deathbed  of  some  who  were  near  and 
dear  to  me,  I  had  boldly  uttered  a  belief 
and  a  hope  which  lay  deep  but  unexpressed 
in  millions  of  Christian  minds. 

Archbishop  Tait  never  added  his  voice  to 
the  hubbub  of  anathema  by  which  I  was 
immediately  surrounded  ;  but,  at  first,  his 
regard  for  me  made  him  a  little  alarmed 
and  anxious.  He  only  wrote  and  recom- 
mended to  me  "  some  notes  by  Principal 
John  Sharp,  printed  in  the  new  volume  of 
Mr.  Erskine  of  Linlathen's  letters,  of  a  con- 
versation he  had  with  Mr.  Erskine  on  his 
peculiar  views  respecting  the  subject  of  your 
sermon."  I  was  compelled  to  publish  the 
series  of  five  sermons,  because  they  were 
becoming  current  in  incorrect  versions  ;  but 
they  never  elicited  one  syllable  of  rebuke 
from  the  archbishop,  nor  did  they  diminish 
in  the  smallest  degree  his  friendly  kind- 
ness. He  afterwards  asked  me  to  publish 


DOCTOR  THOMSON.  183 

a  sermon  of  mine  in  the  Abbey  by  which,  he 
told  me,  he  had  been  deeply  interested,  on 
"  Many  Folds,  One  Flock,"  in  which  I  had 
dwelt  strongly  upon  the  essential  unity  of  true 
Christians  amid  their  superficial  divisions. 

The  admirable  life  of  the  archbishop  by 
the  Bishop  of  Winchester  gives  such  a  true 
and  beautiful  picture  of  Archbishop  Tait  that 
posterity  will  know  him  as  he  was.  Multi- 
tudes of  visitors  to  Canterbury  Cathedral  still 
gaze  with  deep  interest  upon  his  beautiful 
effigy,  and  read  the  striking  epitaph  that 
"  the  one  desire  of  his  life  was  to  make  the 
Church  of  England  the  Church  of  the  peo- 
ple." The  title  sometimes  given  him  of 
"Archbishop  of  the  Laity"  was  originally 
bestowed  in  a  depreciatory  sense :  it  is  in 
reality  his  highest  honor.  He  won  the 
hearty  esteem  and  confidence  of  the  nation 
because  he  was  a  genuine  man. 

I  received  no  less  kindness  and  encour- 
agement from  his  eminent  colleague,  DR. 
THOMSON,  ARCHBISHOP  OF  YORK.  There  is 
scarcely  one  of  his  letters  to  me  which  is 


184  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

not  full  of  kind  expressions.  He  came  not 
unfrequently  to  service  in  my  church,  St. 
Margaret's,  Westminster ;  and  he  preached 
there,  as  did  Archbishop  Tait.  Both  the 
archbishops  —  Dr.  Tait  and  Dr.  Thomson  — 
were  my  guests  on  the  day  that  the  House 
of  Commons  attended  my  church  —  it  is 
the  church  of  the  House  —  in  state,  on  the 
occasion  of  the  jubilee  of  H.  M.  Queen  Vic- 
toria. In  the  Athenaeum  I  have  had  more 
than  one  pleasant  and  interesting  conversa- 
tion with  the  Archbishop  of  York.  I  spoke 
at  the  Church  Congress  in  Hull  at  his  ex- 
press invitation.  He  at  once  overruled  an 
objection  made  by  some  clergymen  on  the 
grounds  of  my  Eternal  Hope,  and  said 
emphatically  that  nothing  which  I  had  writ- 
ten could  be  condemned  as  in  any  way 
"  unorthodox."  He  wrote  :  — 

'*  I  do  most  sincerely  wish  that  you  will  come  to  the 
Congress,  and  your  very  kind  letter  shows  me  that 
there  is  still  hope.  Kindly  respond  as  early  as  possi- 
ble ;  and  if  you  can,  as  you  kindly  hint,  regard  my  in- 
vitation as  a  command,  I  shall  be  delighted,  and  shall 
never  throw  upon  you  any  command  more  burden- 
some.'' 


DR.   THOMSON,    ARCHBISHOP    OF    YORK. 


MA  GEE  —  TRENCH—  BENSON.        185 

I  was  also  well  acquainted  for  many 
years  with  his  famous  successor,  ARCHBISHOP 
MAGEE  ;  but  as  I  have  spoken  elsewhere 
of  the  circumstances  which  disturbed  the 
friendly  relations  between  us,  as  well  as 
those  which  cordially  renewed  them,  I  will 
add  nothing  here  respecting  him.  Of  him, 
too,  all  men  can  judge  from  the  very  out- 
spoken letters  of  which  his  recent  biography 
is  mainly  composed. 

I  knew  ARCHBISHOP  TRENCH  but  slightly. 
I  have  met  him,  when  he  was  Dean  of  West- 
minster, at  the  annual  dinner  of  "  the  Apos- 
tles," and  have  talked  with  him  on  the 
subject  of  "  The  Origin  of  Language."  He 
was  fond  of  philology,  and  told  me  that  he 
had  read  my  book  with  much  interest,  and, 
in  all  the  main  points,  agreed  with  it. 

I  will  not  say  much  of  ARCHBISHOP  BEN- 
SON, with  whom  I  enjoyed  a  friendship  of 
many  years  ;  for  of  him  also  I  have  spoken 
elsewhere.  In  many  of  the  highest  qualities 


186  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN.  . 

—  in  deep  ecclesiastical  learning,  in  graceful 
genius,  in  manly  courage,  in  that  radiant 
geniality  which  gave  a  charm  to  all  which 
he  said  and  did  —  he  was  pre-eminently  well 
fitted  for  his  high  office.  When  he  visited 
Canterbury,  which  was  ordinarily  about  three 
times  in  the  year,  he  was  always  our  guest. 
The  old  palace  of  the  archbishops  at  Canter- 
bury was  burnt  down  in  Cranmer's  days  ;  and 
the  stately  house,  rebuilt  by  Archbishop  War- 
ham,  was  destroyed  by  the  Puritans.  The 
archbishops,  since  the  Reformation,  have  al- 
ways been  received  at  the  Deanery,  though 
it  is  not  impossible  that  henceforth  they  may 
have  a  house  of  their  own  in  their  "  ancient 
and  loyal "  metropolitical  city  —  the  first 
Christian  English  city  of  the  first  Christian 
English  kingdom.  Archbishop  Benson  loved 
Canterbury  with  an  intense  affection,  and  al- 
ways seemed  to  be  in  the  highest  spirits 
during  his  delightful  visits.  When  he  was 
present,  there  was  an  invariable  flow  of  nat- 
ural, bright,  and  animated  conversation.  He 
amused  us  much  one  morning  at  breakfast. 
A  room  in  the  Deanery  is  known  as  "  the 


ARCHBISHOP    BENSON. 


ARCHBISHOP  BENSON.  187 

archbishop's  room  ;  "  and  coming  from  it,  he 
said  in  an  emphatic  way,  - 

"  I  had  a  visitor  last  night,  when  you  had 
all  gone  to  bed." 

"A  visitor?     Not  a  burglar,   I  hope?" 

"  No." 

"Nor  one  of  our  familiar  ghosts?" 

o 

"  No,"  said  the  archbishop ;  "  but  he 
was  winged,  and  he  was  brilliant." 

"  It  must  have  been  an  angel  who  came 
to  see  your  Grace  ? " 

"  No  !     though    wincred.    and    brilliant,    it 

o  «-> 

was  deadly'' 

"Not  a  demon,   I   hope?" 

"No;  you   must  guess." 

We  all  guessed  in  vain  ;   and  he  then  told 

o 

us  that  it  was  a  hornet,  which  alarmed  him 
so  much  that  he  had  to  ring  for  his  valet 
to  catch  it  before  he  could  go  to  sleep. 

This  trivial  incident  illustrates  his  habit 
of  playfulness.  When  the  archbishop  goes 
in  state  to  the  Cathedral,  a  little  chorister  in 
a  violet  cassock  and  cap  always  awaits  him, 
to  bear  his  train  ;  and  some  dozen  bedesmen 
—  mostly  of  great  age,  all  of  whose  nomi- 


188  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNOWN. 

nations  are  signed  by  the  Queen  herself  — 
stand  with  their  wands  outside  the  Deanery 
door  to  escort  us  to  the  Cathedral.  It  was 
always  a  pleasure  to  see  how  the  arch- 
bishop made  friends  at  once  alike  with  old 
and  young.  He  used  to  pat  the  chorister 
on  the  head,  ask  him  his  name,  make  some 
cheerful  and  helpful  remark  to  him ;  and  then 
turning  to  the  old  bedesmen,  he  would  talk 
to  them  so  amusingly  that  there  would  be 
a  broad  smile  on  all  their  faces,  while  at 
the  same  time  he  would  always  intermingle 
with  his  humor  some  good  advice  which 
they  could  not  fail  to  remember.  He 
greatly  enjoyed  his  visits  to  Canterbury. 
After  one  of  them  he  wrote  :  — 


MY  DEAR  DEAN,  — 

To  thank  you  and  Mrs.  Farrar  for  your  kindness 
is  impossible.  I  can  only  say  that  it  has  left  me 
very  grateful,  but  that  I  felt  your  enjoyment  of  it 
beside,  throughout  that  busy  time.  All  agree  that  we 
had  a  most  delightful  Sunday,  and  pray  that  God's 
gifts  of  grace  may  most  amply  rest  on  such  worship 
and  self-dedication  as  we  witnessed. 

Ever  affectionately  yours, 

E.  CANTUAR. 


ARCHBISHOP  BENSON.  189 

I  was  ill  at  the  beginning  of  1896,  and  he 
wrote,  with  deep  sympathy,  on  Innocents' 
Day:- 

God  give  you  strength  and  help  if  he  gives  you 
pain.  This  day  of  guileless  suffering  [Innocents'  Day] 
is  the  recognition  of  the  ages  of  the  Church  that  the 
mystery  of  pain  which  some  moderns  feel  as  if  they 
had  discovered,  is  somehow  ever  and  ever  for  his  sake. 
FeVotro.  You  will  offer  yourself,  I  know,  to  his  bleed- 
ing hand,  and  if  my  poor  prayer  can  help  you,  it  shall 
be  with  you.  If  I  may  mix  with  this  another  strain,  it 
is  only  the  old  "  whom  he  loveth  he  chasteneth," 
which  has  been  the  unspeakable  stay  of  all  who  can 
receive  it. 

Yours  affectionately, 

E.  CANTUAR. 

His  interest  in  the  minutest  details  of  all 
that  affected  the  Cathedral  was  wonderful. 
In  the  last  few  weeks  of  his  life  I  had  sev- 
eral letters  from  him  about  the  design  of 
two  quite  small  triforiurn  windows  which  I 
was  filling  with  stained  glass.  He  rejoiced 
in  my  removal  of  the  font,  which  he  said 
had  "  rebaptized  the  nave  ;  which  for  many 
years  looked  like  a  mere  ambulatory,  gar- 
nished with  cenotaphs."  He  also  greatly 
liked  the  suggestion  for  hanging  the  nave 


1 1)0  MEN  I  HA  VR  KNO  WN. 

with  banners,  and  placing  in  it  the  pulpit 
designed  by  Mr.  Boclley  as  a  memorial  to 
my  learned  predecessor,  Dean  Payne  Smith. 

"  You  want  the  pulpit,"  he  wrote,  "  that 
'  the  water  and  the  word  '  may  be  evidently 
set  forth.  -1  rejoice  to  hear  that  you  are 
taking  up  the  idea  of  preaching  in  the  nave. 
There  is  something  specially  fine  in  having 
a  nave  for  great  Christian  oratory.  It  would 
even  evoke  it  —  and  there  is  a  freedom  and 
capacity  there  which  tends  as  much  to  think- 
ing and  conceiving  as  ever  the  choir  to  wor- 
ship and  meditation." 

He  loved  to  wander  about  the  great 
Cathedral,  in  perfect  solitude,  using  the 
private  key  which  is  given  to  every  arch- 
bishop. He  often  went  there  when  it  was 
empty,  late  in  the  evening;  and  he  asked 
me  to  place  a  humble  little  faldstool  for 
him,  that  he  might  sit,  and  meditate,  and 
pray  alone,  in  "  Becket's  Crown."  I  did 
so,  and  he  made  use  of  it  the  next  time 
he  came.  I  received  a  letter  from  him, 
written  from  Ireland,  on  Oct.  2.  On  Oct. 
1 1  he  died.  The  letter  is  interesting  as 


ARCHBISHOP  BENSON.  191 

showing  how  hard  an  archbishop  has  to 
work.  I  had  asked  him  to  preach  on  Whit- 
sunday, 1897,  as  tne  actual  thirteen  hun- 
dredth anniversary  of  the  baptism  of  King 
Ethelbert.  Here  is  his  reply  :  — 

IRELAND,  Oct.  2,  1896. 

MY  DEAR  DEAN,  — •  I  would  so  joyfully  do  any- 
thing I  could  which  you  wished.  But  about  preach- 
ing on  Whitsunday,  listen,  — 

1.  The  Queen's  sixth  decade  in  June  will  give  me 
work  without  end. 

2.  The  Lambeth  Conference  comes  in  July,  begin- 
ning at  the  end  of  June,  and  lasting  till  the  end  of 
July,  with   daily  sessions,   committees,   house    always 
full  of  bishops,  —  every  American  bishop  comes  with 
his  family,  and  stays  three  days.     The  work  of  it,  and 
the  preparation   for   it,  which  is  absolutely  immense 
and    incessant,    begins    months   before,   and    deepens 
daily  till  it  is  over,  and  leaves  one  rnju.9a.vri. 

Well,  in  ordinary  years  my  only  break  is  from  the 
Thursday  before  Whitsunday  till  the  Tuesday  after. 
My  ordination  preparation  for  Trinity  begins  on 
Wednesday. 

Such  were  the  toils  from  which  that  be- 
loved prelate  was  so  suddenly,  and  under 
such  blessed  circumstances,  called  away. 
He  died  on  Oct.  1 1  ;  on  Oct.  26  he  would 
again  have  been  our  guest. 


192  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO IVN. 

From  archbishops  I  pass  to  cardinals.  I 
missed  my  one  chance  of  personally  know- 
ing CARDINAL  NEWMAN.  I  spent  part  of  a 
day  at  the  Oratory,  Birmingham,  —  which 
was  the  cardinal's  home,  —  with  an  old 
friend  and  colleague  who  had  become  a 
Roman  Catholic.  This  friend  showed  me 
over  the  school  and  all  its  arrangements, 
and  got  me  to  write  my  name  in  one  of 
my  books  which  was  in  the  boys'  library. 
I  was  to  have  seen  the  great  cardinal,  but 
he  sent  down  a  message  that  he  did  not  feel 
well  enough  that  day  to  see  me.  Like  other 
Roman  Catholics  of  eminence,  he  was  by  no 
means  out  of  sympathy  with  the  views  ex- 
pressed in  Eternal  Hope.  This  may  be  seen 
from  Mr.  Oxenham's  excellent  volume  on 
the  subject,  and  from  a  letter  from  Cardinal 
Manning,  which  I  shall  quote  immediately. 
I  (jive  a  facsimile  of  Cardinal  Newman's 

o 

reply  to  my  gift  of  a  copy  of  the  book. 

I  knew  CARDINAL  MANNING  well  for  many 
years,  and  may  say  at  once  that  I  felt  the 
.greatest  regard  and  respect  for  him,  be- 


/ 


••/*• 


' 


J 


^t**.  </«•«-  ^ 


*  ^^  y 


CARDINAL  MANNING.  193 

Having-  him  to  be  a  sincerely  devoted  man. 
His  nephew,  Monseigneur  Manning,  who 
died  at  a  comparatively  early  age,  had  called 
on  me  both  at  Harrow  and  at  Marlborough, 
as  it  was  the  desire  of  his  life  to  establish  a 
school  for  Roman  Catholic  boys,  as  nearly 
as  possible  on  the  lines  of  the  English  pub- 
lic schools.  Needless  to  say,  I  received  him 
at  my  house,  and  gave  him  every  possible 
facility  of  studying  all  the  arrangements  of 
the  schools,  especially  those  of  Marlborough 
College,  which  more  closely  resembled  the 
ideal  which  he  had  in  view.  He  told  me 
much  about  his  uncle  the  cardinal,  who  felt 
towards  him  as  a  son.  He  told  me  that  his 
uncle's  asceticism  was  so  extreme  that  he  had 
fainted  in  the  pulpit  from  exhaustion,  and 
the  Pope  had  commanded  him  to  relax  the 
stringency  of  his  fasts.  He  also  gave  me  a 
letter  with  this  message  from  the  cardinal  :  — 

o 

"  Say  to  Dr.  Farrar  that  I  read  some  years  ago  his 
Lectures  on  Language  with  much  pleasure  ;  and  have 
also  read  with  still  greater  much  of  the  Life  of  our 
Lord,  which  I  hope  will  win  the  love  and  fidelity  of 
many  to  our  Divine  Master.  It  seems  to  me  well  fitted 
for  families." 


194  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

When  Monseigneur  Manning  died,  the 
cardinal,  who  thought  himself  indebted  by 
the  assistance  I  had  given  him,  introduced 
himself  to  me  at  the  Athenaeum  ;  and  such 
was  his  friendliness  that  I  never  saw  him 
there  without  his  coming  to  have  a  talk. 
We  had  many  matters  of  common  interest. 
I  once  told  him  that  the  majority  of  my  poor- 
est parishioners  in  St.  Margaret's  belonged 
to  his  church  ;  that  we  visited  them  exactly 
as  we  visited  all  our  other  people,  but  that 
many  of  them  (especially  the  poorest  Irish) 
were  so  sunk  in  drink  that  it  never  even 
occurred  to  me  to  attempt  the  least  prose- 
lytism.  We  merely  relieved  their  necessi- 
ties, and  endeavored  to  make  them  happier 
and  better. 

He  sadly  admitted  all  that  I  had  said, 
and  added,  "  it  was  their  terrible  misery 
which  had  led  him  to  found  the  Catholic 
Guild  of  St.  Patrick,  and  to  throw  himself 
heart  and  soul  into  temperance  effort."  1 
met  him  often  on  temperance  platforms, 
and  in  connection  with  other  philanthropic 
work.  He  talked  to  me  quite  freely  on 


ARCHBISHOP'S  HOUSE, 
WESTMINSTER, 

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DOCTOR  PUSEY.  195 

religious  subjects,  'and  even  asked  me  to 
write  —  which  I  was  unable  to  do  —  in 
favor  of  his  educational  views.  He  took 
a  warm  interest  in  the  controversy  about 
Eternal  Hope,  and  wrote  me  a  letter  on 
it  which  has  more  than  a  passing  interest. 
I  reproduce  it  in  facsimile  with  this  chapter. 

With  reference  to  the  subject  here  touched 
on,  I  may  append  a  letter,  which  also  has 
a  permanent  interest,  from  DR.  PUSEY.  I 
did  not  know  Dr.  Pusey  personally,  and  he 
wrote  his  What  is  of  Faith  as  to  Ever- 
lasting Punishment  in  professed  refutation 
of  my  Eternal  Hope.  When  his  book  ap- 
peared, I  at  once  wrote  to  the  Guardian 
to  say  that,  while  I  would  answer  all  spe- 
cial criticism  in  another  book, —  this  I  did 
in  Mercy  and  Judgment,  —  Dr.  Pusey's  An- 
swer had  in  reality  conceded  the  sole  three 
points  in  the  controversy  which  I  regarded 
as  most  vital  :  namely  (i)  that  it  is  not 
"of  faith"  to  believe  that  the  vast  majority 
of  mankind  will  be  eternally  lost ;  (2)  that 
it  is  not  "of  faith"  to  believe  in  material 


196  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

torments  after  death  ;  and  (3)  that  it  is 
not  "  of  faith "  to  hold  that  every  form  of 
retribution  after  death  (in  which  "retribu- 
tion "  I  believe  as  strongly  as  any  one  can 
do)  is  necessarily  endless. 

On  reading  my  letter,  Dr.  Pusey  replied 
as  follows  :  — 

SOUTH  HERMITAGE,  ASCOT  PRIORY,  BRACKNELL, 
July  30,  1880. 

REVEREND  AND  DEAR  SIR,  —  I  beg  to  thank  you 
for  the  courtesy  and  kindness  with  which  you  have 
spoken  of  me  in  your  letter  to  the  Guardian,  so  far 
beyond  what  I  deserve. 

On  two  points  you  have  thought  that  I  was  ex- 
pressing my  own  personal  belief  when  I  did  not  mean 
to  say  anything  of  it.  My  object  was  to  remove  hin- 
drances to  the  belief  in  God's  awful  judgments.  I  had 
no  occasion  to  speak  of  myself.  But  as  you  have 
spoken  of  my  faith,  let  me  say,  — 

1.  I  was  glad  to  be  able  to  urge,  after  divines  of 
indisputable  authority,  that  the  belief  that  there  are  pains 
of  sense  in  hell  is  not  essential  to  the  belief  in  hell  itself, 
so  that  those  who  have  a  strong  feeling  against  the 
belief  in  them  need  not  on  that  account  disbelieve  hell 
itself. 

2.  I  do  strongly  hope  that  the  great  mass  of  mankind 
will  be  saved,  all  whom  God  could  save  without  destroy- 
ing their  free  agency.      But  since  God  has  only  spoken 
of  his  will  to  save  us,  and  has  not  said  whether  man- 


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CANON  LID  DON.  197 

kind  will  accept  that  will  for  them,  I  could  have  no 
belief  on  the  subject.  I  left  it  blindly  in  the  hands  of 
God. 

If  I  had  had  time,  I  would  have  rewritten  my  book, 
and  would  have  said,  "  You  seem  to  me  to  deny  nothing 
that  I  believe."  You  do  not  deny  the  eternal  punish- 
ment of  souls  obstinately  hard  and  finally  impenitent. 
I  believe  the  eternal  punishment  of  no  other.  Who 
they  are  God  alone  knows.  I  should  have  been  glad 
to  begin  with  what  we  believe  in  common,  and  so  to 
say  there  is  no  need  then  to  theorize  about  a  new 
trial. 


Yours  faithfully, 

E.  B.  PUSEY. 


I  received  another  very  interesting  letter 
from  Dr.  Pusey  on  Aug.  3.  This  is  repro- 
duced in  facsimile. 

I  knew  the  late  CANON  LIDDON  of  St. 
Paul's  for  many  years.  I  first  met  him  when 
we  were  both  staying  with  Dr.  Vaughan, 
Dean  of  Llandaff,  who  was  then  Vicar  of 
Doncaster.  We  both  had  to  preach  at  a 
great  choral  festival  in  Doncaster  Church  - 
he  in  the  morning  and  I  in  the  evening.  We 
came  out  of  church  together,  and  I  told  him 
that  I  had  only  one  fault  to  find  with  his  ser- 


198  MEN  I  HA  I'E  KNO  WN. 

mon,  which  was  that  it  made  it  impossible 
for  any  one  to  preach  after  him. 

"Tell  me,  Dr.  Liddon,"  said  a  lady  in  the 
evening,  "  is  it  not  impossible  for  you  to  es- 
cape a  little  feeling  of  vanity  after  preaching 
such  sermons  ?  " 

Dr.  Liddon  might  perhaps  have  answered 
in  the  spirit  of  Rowland  Hill,  who  on  being 
told  that  he  had  preached  a  fine  sermon  that 
morning,  answered,  "  The  devil  told  me  that 
as  I  came  down  the  pulpit  stairs." 

His  actual  answer  was  more  to  the  effect 
that  the  awful  responsibilities  involved  in 
pulpit  ministrations  rendered  any  such  small 
personal  conceit  almost  ludicrously  impossi- 
ble. One  of  the  greatest  preachers  of  this 
age,  F.  W.  Robertson  of  Brighton,  said:  — 

"  Words,  idle  words  !  The  whole  realm  of  Chatter- 
dom  is  worth  nothing  ;  noise  and  smoke,  and  nothing 
else.  Eloquence,  rhetoric,  impressive  discourses,  etc., 
—  soft  gliding  swallows  and  noisy  impudent  tomtits, 
—  is  the  true  worth  of  the  first  orator  in  the  world.  I 
believe  I  could  have  become  an  orator  if  I  had  chosen 
to  take  the  pains.  I  see  what  rhetoric  does,  and  what 
it  seems  to  do,  and  I  thoroughly  despise  it.  Yet  per- 
haps I  do  it  injustice ;  with  an  unworldly,  noble  love 
to  give  it  reality,  what  might  I  not  do  ?  " 


22. 


•+ 

" 


, 


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CANON     LIDDON. 


THE    DEANERY. 
S.T-  PAULS. 


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I 


DEAN  CHL'RCH.  199 

And  Charles  Kingsley,  when  he  was  first 
made  Canon  of  Westminster,  and  walked 
up  the  crowded  aisle  to  preach  one  of 
those  sermons  which  produced  so  deep  an 
impression,  said  to  a  friend,  with  that  slight 
stammer  which  lent  additional  piquancy  to 
his  remarks,  "  Whenever  I  walk  up  to  the 
pulpit  in  the  Abbey  I  wish  myself  d — d — 
dead ;  and  whenever  I  walk  back  I  wish 
myself  more  d — d— d— dead." 

I  have  several  kind  letters  from  Dr. 
Liddon  before  me.  The  one  from  which  a 
paragraph  is  reproduced  in  facsimile  gives 
his  views  about  the  future  life. 

I  knew  DEAN  CHURCH,  and  met  him  not 
unfrequently  in  the  Athenaeum,  at  meetings 
of  the  Governing  Body  of  Westminster 
School,  and  elsewhere.  I  reproduce  one 
letter  of  his,  because  it  shows  his  high  ap- 
preciation of  Dean  Stanley,  the  news  of 
whose  death  I  had  telegraphed  to  him,  and 
asked  him  to  be  present  at  the  funeral. 


VIII. 
A  GROUP  OF  BISHOPS  AND  DEANS. 

DEANS  WELLESLEY,  HOWSON,  JEKEMIE.  PLUMP- 
TKE,  AND  OTHERS  |  BISHOP  SHORT  OF  ST. 
ASAPH  J  BISHOP  MOBERLY  OF  SALISBURY  J 
BISHOP  COLENSO  OF  NATAL J  BISHOP  LIGHT- 
FOOT  OF  DURHAM  ;  BISHOP  WORDSWORTH  OF 
LINCOLN. 

To  the  dignitaries  and  ecclesiastics  men- 
tioned above  I  might  add  many  \vhom  I 
have  known,  but  of  whom  I  have  not  space 
to  speak ;  and  even  of  these  I  can  only 
speak  very  briefly.  Let  me  begin  with  a 
few  well-known  deans. 

Whenever  I  had  the  honor  of  preaching 
before  Her  Majesty  the  Queen  in  the  Private 
Chapel  of  Windsor,  which  has  been  on  an 
average  at  least  once  a  year  for  nearly  thirty 

200 


DEAN    WELLESLEY. 


DEAN  WELLESLEY.  201 

years,  I  was  the  guest  of  DEAN  WELLESLEY 
at  the  Deanery  in  Windsor  Castle,  as  subse- 
quently of  his  successors.  Dean  Wellesley 
was  a  man  full  of  goodness,  wisdom,  and 
dignity  —  an  admirable  specimen  of  what 
a  great  ecclesiastic  should  be.  Although  lie 
occupied  so  high  a  position,  and  enjoyed 
the  warm  esteem  of  his  sovereign,  —  who 
placed  full  confidence  in  his  judgment,  —  he 
was  a  man  essentially  kind  and  humble. 
His  long  period  of  otium  cum  dignitate  in 
the  easiest  of  deaneries  never  interfered 
with  the  steady  self-culture  which  led  him 
to  the  end  of  his  life  to  continue  those 
serious  studies  by  which  he  was  kept  au 
courant  with  every  phase  and  development 
of  modern  theology.  In  his  younger  days 
he  had  lived  with  his  uncle,  the  great  Duke 
of  Wellington,  of  whom  he  had  also  seen 

o 

much  when  he  was  rector  of  Strathfield- 
saye. 

His  manners  recalled  the  stately  courtesy 
which  was  perhaps  more  common  in  a  past 
ofeneration  than  now  it  is.  Of  Dean  Wei- 

o 

lesley    all    who    were    well    acquainted    with 


202  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

him  retain  an  affectionate  remembrance ;  and 
the  Church  of  England  owes  a  deeper  debt 
of  recognition  than  many  are  aware,  to  one 
whose  sage  counsels  and  wholesome  influ- 
ence, most  unobtrusively  exerted,  saved  her 
from  many  perils,  and  ensured  to  her  many 
benefits.  I  shall  never  forget  the  indefi- 
nable charm,  refinement,  and  warmth  of  his 
hospitality,  or  the  debt  which  I  owe  to  him 
for  many  an  act  of  gracious  kindness. 

Among-  other   deans    once    known  to   me 

c> 

was  the  genial  and  witty  DEAN  CLOSE,  an 
admirable  evangelical  preacher  and  speaker. 
I  knew  DEAN  JOHNSON  of  Wells,  an  Oxford 
scholar  of  great  distinction,  who  counted 
both  the  archbishops  of  his  day  (Tait  and 
Thomson)  among  his  pupils.  At  the 
house  of  DEAN  HERBERT  of  Hereford  I 
stayed  almost  every  year,  when  I  preached 
for  him  in  Hereford  Cathedral.  He  was  a 
man  deservedly  beloved  for  the  unassuming 
gentleness  of  his  character,  and  his  aristo- 
cratic courtliness  recalled  the  perfect  man- 
ners of  a  passing  generation. 


DEAN  HO  WSON.  203 

DEAN  HOWSON,  as  the  joint  author  of 
Conybeare  and  Howson's  St.  Paul,  and  as 
an  old  schoolmaster,  was  interested  in  the 
same  subjects  and  pursuits  as  myself.  I 
have  heard  some  of  his  former  pupils  at 
Liverpool  College  speak  of  him  with  warm 
affection,  and  record  how,  even  in  the 
smallest  matters,  he  assiduously  strove  to 
guide  them  aright.  One  of  them  —  now 
a  clergyman  —  said  that,  as  a  boy,  he  had 
once  put  out  his  foot  for  another  boy  to 
stumble  over  as  he  came  out  of  the  school 
gate.  The  boy  was  tripped  up ;  and  while 
the  offender  was  laughing-  at  his  fall,  Dr. 

O  O 

Howson,  who  happened  to  pass,  merely 
looked  at  him,  and  said,  "  Was  that  kind?" 
-  nothing  more.  "  Yet,"  said  the  clergy- 
man, "that  lesson  —  conveyed  in  but  three 
words  —  was  so  spoken  that  it  has  re- 
mained with  me  all  my  life." 

Dean  Howson  rendered  memorable  bene- 
fits to  Chester  Cathedral,  which  he  restored 
by  the  aid  of  the  large  fund  raised  by  his 
personal  exertions.  He  died  in  1885,  after 
a  long  career  of  unostentatious  but  signal 


204  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

services  both  as  a  teacher,  an  administrator, 
and  a  most  useful  writer.  At  Liverpool  and 
Chester  especially  his  name  will  long  be 
cherished. 

The  learned  and  able  DR.  BLAKESLEY,  Dean 
of  Lincoln,  and  editor  of  Herodotus,  once 
famous  for  his  letters  in  the  Times  with  the 
signature  "  Historicus,"  was  a  man  of  large 
heart  and  open  intellect,  with  whom  I  have 
stayed  at  Lincoln,  and  with  whom  I  had 
many  views  in  common.  DEAN  JEREMIE  of 
Lincoln  (d.  1872),  for  many  years  Regius 
Professor  of  Divinity  at  Cambridge,  was 
author,  among  other  books,  of  the  History 
of  the  Church  in  the  Second  and  Tliird 
Centuries,  For  some  kind  reason,  I  know 
not  what,  he  asked  me  to  his  rooms  when 
I  was  only  a  poor  unknown  freshman  ;  and 
I  still  remember  how,  when  the  conversation 
happened  to  turn  on  Oliver  Cromwell,  he 
took  down  some  old  dictionary,  and,  with  a 
hearty  laugh,  showed  us  a  passage  in  which 
Oliver  Cromwell  was  ranked  with  the  Em- 
peror Phocas  and  Judas  Iscariot,  and  was 


PROFESSOR  BLUNT.  205 

characterized  as  one  of  the  three  most 
wicked  men  whom  the  world  had  ever  seen, 
and  one  of  the  three  most  certain  of  eternal 
damnation. 

The  Dean  was  one  of  the  very  few  elo- 
quent preachers  to  whom  we  undergraduates 
in  those  clays  had  any  chance  of  listening. 
Whenever  he  occupied  the  University  pulpit, 
the  galleries  were  densely  crowded.  His 
sermons  were  perfect  specimens  of  style. 
Every  sentence  was  faultlessly  turned,  and 
dwelt  on  the  ear  like  music.  Nothing  but 
"  excessive  fastidiousness  and  nervous  sen- 
sitiveness to  criticism  "  prevented  Dean  Jer- 
emie  from  accomplishing  much  more  than 
he  did  ;  but  his  indecision  was  perhaps  due 
to  the  long  life  which  he  had  lived  as  a 
scholar  and  a  recluse.  He  printed  but  a 
few  of  his  sermons.  Thev  were  somewhat 

./ 

academic  in  form,  but  certainly  produced  an 
effect,  and  lingered  in  the  memory. 

There  were  other  professors  at  Cambridge 
at  that  time  whom  I  scarcely  knew  at  all. 
One  was  PROFESSOR  BLUNT,  another  preacher 


206  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

who  always  had  a  large  audience,  because 
his  sermons  were  enunciated  with  strong 
feeling.  PROFESSOR  HAROLD  BROWNE,  after- 
wards Bishop  of  Ely  and  Winchester,  was 
always  kind  to  me.  He  welcomed  some  of 
my  papers  in  the  preliminary  examination 
with  words  of  singularly  high  encourage- 
ment, and  told  me  that  he  had  kept  them 
for  years. 

I  came  across  the  learned  PROFESSOR  MILL 
only  once.  He  had  set  a  paper  in  the 
University  scholarship  examination,  and  his 
way  always  was  to  print  four  or  five  Latin 
and  Greek  passages  for  translation,  and  ask 
the  candidates  to  assign  them  to  their  proper 
authors.  This  was  generally  an  easy  thing 
to  do ;  but  one  year  he  set  a  passage  from 
the  soldier-historian,  Ammianus  Marcellinus, 
who  died  about  A.  n.  390,  and  had  been 
an  officer  in  the  body-guard  of  the  Emperor 
Julian.  I  should  think  that  this  was  the  first 
and  the  only  instance  in  which  the  Latinity 
of  the  Syrian  author  has  been  used  as  a 
test  of  scholarship  in  a  University  competi- 


DEAN    PLUMPTRE. 


DEAN  PLUMPTRE.  207 

tion.  Dr.  Mill  told  me  that  I  was  the  only 
one  of  all  the  candidates  who  had  assigned 
the  passage  to  its  rightful  author;  and  as 
I  was  only  a  freshman  at  the  time,  he  was 
a  little  surprised,  and  asked  me  how  I  came 
to  be  acquainted  with  such  a  writer,  whom 
he  personally  admired,  but  who  was  wholly 
unknown  to  the  classical  curriculum  of  Cam- 
bridge. I  answered  that  it  was  by  mere 
accident.  Ammianus  Marcellinus  is  not  un- 
frequently  referred  to  in  Elliott's  Horte 
Apocalypticcz,  and  this  had  interested  me  in 
him,  and  made  me  acquainted  with  his  style. 

DEAN  PLUMPTRE  of  Wells  was  a  lifelong 
friend  to  me,  since  the  clays  when  I  was  a 
boy  at  King's  College.  He  weekly  looked 
over  my  papers  in  answer  to  questions  on 
his  lectures,  and  he  gave  me  excellent 
advice  and  useful  encouragement,  together 
with  the  blessing  of  his  unfailing  regard 
and  kindness.  I  was  very  diffident  about 
myself;  and  I  might  almost  say  of  Dean 
Plumptre,  as  Jeremy  Bentham  said  of  Lord 
Lansdowne,  "  He  raised  me  from  the  bot- 


1>08  MEN  I  HAVE  KNOWN, 

\ 

tomless  pit  of  humiliation  ;  lie  first  taught 
me  that  I  could  be  something"  -  however 
small.  But  I  received  similar  encourage- 
ment from  the  other  King's  College  pro- 
fessors of  that  day  —  Dr.  Jelf,  Archdeacon 
Browne,  and  Professors  Maurice  and  Brewer. 
I  have  been  Dr.  Plumptre's  guest  in  London, 
at  Bickley,  where  he  \vas  for  some  years  a 
rector,  and  in  his  Deanery  at  Wells. 

I  do  not  think  that  the  world  has  done 
justice  to  his  manifold  services  and  intellec- 
tual activity.  His  articles  in  Smith's  Dic- 
tionary of  the  Bible  are  characterized  not 
only  by  learning  and  research,  but  also  by 
singular  brightness  and  originality.  His  ser- 
mons, both  those  which  were  practical  and 
those  which  were  controversial,  have  perma- 
nent value,  and  show  how  largely  he  had 
imbibed  the  charitable  spirit  of  his  brother- 
in-law,  Professor  Maurice.  He  translated 
into  verse  —  and  exceedingly  well --the 
tragedies  both  of  /Eschylus  and  Sophocles  ; 
he  wrote  by  far  the  best  life  of  the  saintly 
Bishop  Ken  ;  he  also  published  in  two  hand- 
some volumes  a  most  valuable  translation  of 


DOCTOR  SHORT.  209 

all  the  works  of  Dante,  with  studies  on  his 
writings,  and  a  singularly  full  and  bright 
Commentary  on  Ecclesiastes.  Besides  all 
this,  he  was  a  poet;  in  his  two  volumes  of 
poems,  chiefly  on  scriptural  subjects,  there 
are  some  verses  at  least  which  ought  to 
live,  because  they  are  written  with  great  fresh- 
ness of  thought  and  insight.  Dr.  Plumptre 
was  not  for  a  long  time  Dean  of  Wells,  but 
during  his  tenure  of  the  office  he  won  the 
hearts  of  all,  from  the  oldest  canons  down 
to  the  youngest  choristers.  I  count  his 
friendship  among  the  conspicuous  blessings, 
and  his  teachings  among  the  formative  in- 
fluences, of  my  life. 

The  first  bishop  whom  I  ever  knew  was 
DR.  SHORT,  Bishop  of  Sodor  and  Man.  He 
was  the  author  of  a  Short  History  of  the 
Church  of  England,  which  was  long  re- 
garded as  a  standard  work  of  its  kind.  He 
subsequently  became  Bishop  of  St.  Asaph, 
and  did  admirable  work  in  that  see,  care- 
fully visiting  every  parish,  and  preserving 
records  of  its  exact  condition,  which  are,  I 


210  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

believe,  still  found  useful  by  his  Episcopal 
successors.  I  was  then  a  boy  of  thirteen 
or  fourteen,  at  King  William's  College,  Isle 
of  Man  ;  and  as  the  boys  —  in  those  days 
when  steamers  were  few  and  travelling  not 
so  easy  as  now  —  only  went  home  for  one 
long  holiday  in  the  summer,  the  bishop 
used  kindly  to  invite  some  of  us  to  spend 
a  week  with  him  at  Bishopscourt  at  Easter. 
I  remember  that  the  first  time  I  entered  his 
study  I  saw  on  the  chimneypiece  a  picture  of 
my  celebrated  ancestor,  the  Marian  martyr 
—  Farrar,  Bishop  of  St.  David's,  who  was 
burnt  alive  at  Carmarthen  in  1555. 

The  bishop  told  me  that  he  was  thinking 
of  writing  a  sketch  of  his  predecessors  in 
the  ancient  see  of  Sodor  and  Man,  and 
that  Bishop  Farrar  was  one  of  them.  I 
have  since  learned  that  this  was  a  mistake. 
Bishop  Farrar  was  one  of  Archbishop  Cran- 
mer's  chaplains,  and  was  appointed  Bishop 
of  St.  David's  by  Edward  VI.  There  is  not 
only  no  trace  of  his  having  set  foot  in  the 
Isle  of  Man,  but  no  trace  of  his  having  been 
appointed  there.  Perhaps  the  error  arose 


DOCTOR  SHORT.  211 

from  his  sometimes  signing  himself  R  Men., 
which  was  an  abbreviation  for  Meneviensis, 
or  "  of  the  see  of  St.  David's." 

It  was  very  delightful  for  us  boys  to  be 
guests  of  the  bishop  at  that  charming  coun- 
try palace,  and  to  wander  through  the  su- 
premely lovely  mountain  glen  watered  by  a 
crystal  streamlet,  which  formed  part  of  its 
grounds  —  to  say  nothing  of  the  unwonted 
luxuries  which  the  visits  afforded  us.  It  was 
also  pleasant  to  accompany  the  bishop  hand 
passibus  cequis,  as  with  his  long  thin  gaitered 
legs  he  strode  about  the  mountains  and  sea- 
shores in  the  neighborhood  of  his  home. 

o 

There  was,  however,  a  drop  of  myrrh  in  the 
cup  of  our  enjoyment.  The  bishop  was  a 
double  first-class  man,  and  an  ardent  enthu- 
siast in  matters  of  education.  He  would 
amuse  himself  by  examining  us  wretched 
schoolboys  all  day  long  —  at  any  rate,  all 
the  morning.  At  last  Mrs.  Short,  a  charm- 
ing lady,  thinking  that  we  looked  "depressed 
and  emaciated,"  interfered  on  our  behalf,  and 
robbed  the  bishop  of  the  luxury  of  gauging 
our  very  shallow  attainments. 


212  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

Many  incidents  of  those  days  linger  in  my 
mind.  One  evening  the  bishop  made  us  all 
play  the  game,  "  What  is  my  thought  like  ?  " 
in  which  one  had  to  show  that  one's  guess 
resembled  the  thing  really  thought  of.  I 
guessed  "  a  lamp,"  but  he  had  thought  of 
"  a  bishop."  He  wanted  me  to  pay  the 
forfeit  for  guessing  wrong ;  but  I  stoutly 
resisted,  maintaining  that  every  bishop  was, 
or  ought  to  be,  a  golden  candlestick.  An- 
other evening  he  watched  us  playing  chess, 
on  which  as  a  boy  I  rather  prided  myself ; 
but  he  disdainfully  remarked  that  I  seemed 
to  play  it  without  any  prearranged  plan.  We 
were  once  quietly  but  severely  reprimanded 
by  him.  It  was  after  dinner ;  he  was  sitting 
asleep,  or  apparently  asleep,  in  his  arm-chair. 
The  tempting  dessert  on  the  table  was  too 
much  for  some  of  the  boys,  and  they  helped 
themselves — to  fruits  and  "lucent  syrops 
tinct  with  cinnamon  "  —  unobserved,  as  they 
thought.  Their  enjoyment  of  these  dainties 
on  the  table  was  very  brief.  Suddenly  there 
came  a  very  quiet  knock  at  the  door,  and 
the  bishop,  with  his  eyes  still  shut,  instantly 


BISHOP  COTTON.  213 

said,  "  Come  in  !  "  He  did  not  reprove  the 
young  offenders,  but  alluded  —  distantly,  yet 
to  susceptible  consciences  intelligibly  —  to  the 
incident  in  his  extempore  evening  prayer, 

He  never  was  so  happy  or  so  much  in 
his  element  as  when  he  was  orally  examin- 
ing a  national  school,  and  there  were  many 
stories  of  the  answers  he  received.  On  one 
occasion  he  asked  the  children  to  compare 
an  adjective,  and  a  boy  promptly  answered, 
"  Short,  Shorter,  Shortest."  On  another  oc- 
casion he  was  questioning  them  about  beset- 
ting sins,  and  rather  imprudently  asked  them 
"  what  they  supposed  his  besetting  sin  to 
be  ?  "  —  "  Drunkenness  !  "  was  the  prompt 
reply.  Thereupon  he  told  them  that  that 
was  a  mistake,  but  that  his  besetting  sin 
was  pride.  Peace  be  with  him !  He  gave 
me,  when  I  was  a  boy,  many  a  happy  hour. 

The  next  bishop  whom  I  knew  intimately 
was  the  late  BISHOP  COTTON  of  Calcutta,  a 
post  to  which  he  was  promoted  from  the 
head  mastership  of  Marlborough  College. 
He  was  a  man  of  marked  individuality, 


214  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

who,  without  any  splendid  ability  or  wide 
learning,  impressed  himself  deeply  on  the 
affection  and  memory  of  all  who  knew  him 
by  the  beauty,  firmness,  and  sincerity  of  his 
character.  He  was  one  of  those  men  who 
seem  to  keep  growing-  in  power  and  wisdom 
all  through  their  lives.  He  figures  in  Tom 
Brown's  Schooldays  as  "  the  young  master" 
of  Dr.  Arnold's  time,  who  befriends  the  shy 
and  sensitive  Arthur  (a  character  intended 
in  part  to  represent  Dean  Stanley).  He 
was  for  fifteen  years  a  master  of  Rugby, 
much  beloved  and  honored  by  his  colleagues, 
and  gratefully  appreciated  by  his  elder 
pupils.  There  was  a  delightful  quaintness 
about  his  ways.  All  his  domestic  pets  had 
curious  names,  and  his  pig  was  dubbed 
"Vitellius"  from  his  voracity! 

When  Cotton  went  to  Marlborough,  the 
school,  now  so  famous  and  popular,  was 
passing  through  an  acute  crisis  in  its  his- 
tory. Before  the  degree  list  was  out  at 
Cambridge,  I  received  a  letter  from  him - 
then  a  perfect  stranger —  inviting  me  to 
take  a  mastership  at  the  College,  where 


BISHOP  COTTON.  215 

my  friends  Professor  E.  S.  Beesley  and  Mr. 
E.  A.  Scott  were  already  at  work.  I  ac- 
cepted the  post,  and  one  of  the  first  remarks 
which  Mr.  Cotton  made  to  me  was,  "  You 
know  any  day  the  school  may  disappear 
in  blue  smoke."  The  College  was  at  that 
time  overwhelmed  with  debt,  owing  to  bad 
management,  and  at  first  each  boy  was 
actually  costing  more  than  the  low  annual 
sum  he  paid,  though  the  boys  were  badly 
fed  and  roughly  housed.  With  indomitable 
patience  and  resolution,  and  often  "  in  the 
teeth  of  clenched  antagonisms,"  Cotton  al- 
tered this ;  and  though  he  was  by  no  means 
a  facile  schoolmaster  and  could  punish  with 
severity,  his  quaint  humor  and  his  unquali- 
fied devotion  to  their  interests,  together 
with  his  admirable  weekly  sermons,  soon 
gave  him  the  highest  influence  among  the 
boys. 

He  gathered   round   him   a   devoted    staff 

o 

of  masters,  who  for  the  sake  of  the  school 
were  ready  for  any  self-denial,  and  who 
treated  the  boys  as  so  many  younger 
brothers.  In  the  old  rough  days  there  were 


216  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

masters  who,  though  they  doubtless  meant 
to  be  kind,  kept  up  the  inexorable  severity 
with  which,  until  this  generation,  boys  had 
normally  been  trained  for  many  years.  In 
those  days,  though  not  even  then  at  Marl- 
borough,  it  was  not  uncommon  to  see  boys' 
backs  scored  with  red  and  blue  marks  from 
strokes  of  the  cane,  or  to  see  their  hands 
sore  or  cut  from  what  were  called  "  pandies," 
inflicted  by  the  same  instrument  of  torture. 
Nous  avons  change  tout  cela. 

The  "  rebellion,"  which  had  most  seriously 
shaken  the  very  existence  of  the  school, 
was  hardly  detumescent ;  but  Cotton's  sov- 
ereign good  sense  soon  swept  away  even 
the  remembrance  of  it.  I  recollect  that 
when  I  arrived  as  a  young  master,  some 
forty- three  years  ago,  the  first  thing  I  saw 
was  a  huge  chalk  inscription  on  the  wall, 
"Bread,  or  Blood!" 

Cotton  simply  summoned  the  boys  to- 
gether, told  them  that  his  best  efforts  were 
being  given  to  improve  the  commissariat 
(which  was  not  in  his  hands),  and  that, 
instead  of  scrawling  up  vulgar  and  stupid 


BISHOP  COTTON.  217 

inscriptions,  they  should  confide  in  him. 
The  masters  conferred  together,  swept  away 
the  old  bursar-and-steward  arrangement, 
took  the  finances  in  their  own  hands, 
agreed  not  to  draw  one  penny  of  their 
incomes  till  the  end  of  the  year  (to  save 
interest),  and  then  to  regard  each  pound 
as  a  share.  They  also  offered  to  give  up 
the  whole  of  their  incomes  altogether,  if 
funds  were  not  forthcoming,  or  only  to  take 
any  percentage  of  them  that  might  be 
available.  At  the  end  of  the  year  —  such 
had  been  the  improvement  in  the  manage- 
ment—  every  hundred  pounds  was  worth 
more  than  a  hundred  pounds,  though  the 
comfort  of  the  boys  had  been  largely  and 
in  every  way  improved.  The  whole  body 
of  masters  then  at  once  gave  up  the  addi- 
tional quota  which  was  fairly  theirs.  That 
year  of  crisis  saved  in  all  respects  the  for- 
tunes of  the  school,  and  turned  all  its  sons 
into  the  most  loyal  of  Marlburians.  It  is 
a  great  delight  to  me  to  have  been  a  master 
during  so  interesting  a  year. 

I  could  tell  many  a  story  to  the  honor  of 


218  MEN  I  HAl'E  KNOWN. 

Bishop  Cotton.  I  will  mention  but  one.  He 
had  a  most  incisive  wit,  which  though  never 
in  the  smallest  degree  unkindly,  was  yet 
very  telling.  Once  he  had  let  this  wit  play 
over  an  excellent  boy  in  the  sixth  form, 
who  was  far  from  clever  ;  and  the  other  boys 
had  all  laughed.  After  the  lesson,  the  boy 
stayed  behind,  and  said  to  the  master,  — 

"  Sir,  I  know  that  I  am  not  clever ;  I 
dare  say  that  my  work  is  intellectually  poor  ; 
but  I  honestly  do  my  best,  and  I  do  not 
like  to  be  made  the  subject  of  ridicule." 

The  master,  so  far  from  being  offended, 
frankly  told  the  boy  that  he  was  sorry  to 
have  hurt  his  feelings  ;  and  the  remarkable 

£> 

thing  is,  that  never  again  was  he  known 
to  have  used  his  playful  criticism  in  sucJi  a 
way  as  to  cause  pain  to  the  most  sensitive  of 
his  pupils.  This  surely  illustrates  the  beauty 
of  his  character. 

Very  soon  after  I  came,  he  appointed  me 
as  his  assistant  in  the  sixth  form.  Many 
of  the  boys  in  that  sixth  form  have,  since 
then,  risen  to  positions  of  eminence.  I  re- 
member once  seeing  a  boy  chasing  another, 


BISHOP  COTTON.  219 

who  wore  a  scarlet  cap,  round  the  court, 
and  shouting  after  him,  "  Keblipuris  !  Ke- 
bTepuris  !  "  That  is  the  Greek  for  the  "  red 
cap,"  and  the  boy  had  taken  it  from  77/6? 
Birds  of  Aristophanes,  which  we  were  then 
reading.  The  boy  who  was  chasing  the 
other  is  now  the  Right  Reverend  the  Pri- 
mate of  Australia  ;  the  boy  in  the  red  cap 
is  now  the  Right  Reverend  the  Lord  Bishop 
of  Glasgow.  It  reminds  one  of  Shenstone's 
lines  — 

Yet,  nurs'd  with  skill,  what  dazzling  fruits  appear  ! 

E'en  now  sagacious  foresight  points  to  show 
A  little  bench  of  heedless  Bishops  here, 

And  there  a  Chancellor  in  embryo. 

Cotton  did  noble  and  invaluable  work  for 
India  as  Bishop  of  Calcutta,  especially  among 
the  neglected  Eurasians.  His  death,  in  the 
year  1860,  was  pathetically  sudden.  He  had 
been  consecrating  a  cemetery  at  Ktishtia, 
and  had  spoken  of  the  fact  that  clear  as 
were  the  associations  of  "  God's  Acre"  to  the 
living,  yet  to  the  dead  who  die  in  the  Lord 
it  mattered  as  little  as  to  the  martyrs  whose 


220  MEN  I  HA  I'E  A'AO  WN. 

dust  was  scattered  to  the  winds,  if  their 
bodies  did  not  repose  in  consecrated  ground. 
Cotton  was  very  near-sighted,  and  he  was 
also  given  to  fits  of  abstraction.  He  had 
to  walk  back  to  his  vessel  on  the  river  across 
a  long  unprotected  plank.  He  lost  his  foot- 
ing ;  his  body  was  swept  away  by  the  rush- 
ing waters  of  the  Ganges,  and  was  seen  no 
more. 

The  next  bishop  whom  I  knew  intimately 
was  BISHOP  COLENSO.  I  was  grieved  to  see 
him  universally  treated  as  if  he  were  a 
pariah.  In  his  book  on  the  Pentateuch 
he  has  referred  to  the  fact  that  I  had  been 
asked  to  write  the  article  on  "DELUGE"  for 
Smith's  Dictionary  of  tJie  Bible.  I  wrote  it, 
but  took  the  views  about  the  non-universality 
of  the  Deluge  which  most  inquirers  now 
hold.  The  editor  and  publishers,  alarmed 
at  this  deviation  from  stereotyped  opinion, 
postponed  the  insertion  of  the  article,  and 
in  Vol.  I.  inserted  "DELUGE:  see  FLOOD." 
But  even  when  they  had  got  as  far  as 
"  FLOOD,"  they  had  not  made  up  their 


BISHOP  COLENSO.  221 

minds,  and  said,  "  FLOOD  :  see  NOAH."  My 
article  was  consequently  sacrificed  ;  for 
"  NOAH  "  had  been  already  assigned  to  the 
present  Bishop  of  Worcester.  Yet,  after 
all,  Dr.  Perowne  (as  he  then  was)  came  to 
much  the  same  conclusion  as  myself;  for 
he  wrote  "  that  even  the  language  used 
with  regard  to  the  Flood  itself — strong  as 
it  undoubtedly  is  —  does  not  oblige  us  to 
suppose  that  the  Deluge  was  universal." 

The  Bishop  of  Natal  had  alluded  to  and 
commented  on  this  fact,  and  wrote  to  me 
about  it.  Indignant  at  the  utterly  shame- 
ful treatment  which  he  was  receiving  at  all 
hands,  and  glad  to  show  my  humble  sym- 
pathy with  a  noble-hearted  man,  conspicu- 
ous for  the  ardent  and  fearless  sincerity  of 
his  love  of  truth,  I  wrote  to  ask  him  to 
stay  with  me  at  Harrow.  He  had  himself 
in  former  days  been  a  Harrow  master,  and 
he  intensely  enjoyed  one  or  two  quiet  and 
happy  Sundays  with  us.  In  those  days,  if 
a  bishop  happened  to  be  present  in  Har- 
row School  chapel,  it  was  the  custom 
to  ask  him  to  pronounce  the  benediction. 


222  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

Bishop  Colenso  did  so ;  and  will  it  IK; 
believed  that  numbers  of  letters  came  from 
parents  objecting  that  their  sons  should  be 
blessed  by  one  whom,  in  their  utter  igno- 
rance of  all  the  merits  of  the  questions  in- 
volved, they  chose,  with  great  injustice,  to 
stigmatize  as  a  heretic!  The  burden  of  this 
disagreeable  correspondence  fell,  not  on  me, 
but  on  the  head  master  ;  and  consequently, 
when  the  bishop  wrote  to  offer  himself  for 
a  Sunday,  I  had,  with  the  deepest  regret, 
to  ask  him  to  come  on  a  week-day  instead. 

The  persecution  he  incurred  —  which  even 
went  to  the  length  of  an  impotent  attempt 
to  deprive  him  of  his  bishopric,  and  to  re- 
duce him  to  the  condition  of  a  pauper  by 
robbing  him  of  his  income  —  was  as  in- 
credible as  it  was  infamous.  I  well  remem- 
ber his  telling  me  that  he  found  it  by  no 
means  easy  to  get  servants ;  and  that  his 
laundress  had  actually  declined  to  wash  for 
him  any  more,  because  by  doing  so  she  lost 
customers  ! 

I  remember,  too,  that  once  when  I  had 
been  preaching  in  a  large  West  End  church, 


BISHOP  COLENSO,  223 

the  bishop  invited  me  to  his  house,  and  I 
walked  out  of  the  church  with  him,  he  taking 
my  arm.  As  his  tall  form  was  seen  amid  the 
throng"  of  worshippers,  he  was  recognized  as 
he  left  the  church,  and  I  heard  audible  and 
awestruck  whispers,  — 

"He's  iu diking  with  Bishop  Colenso  !  " 
He  faced  this  tornado  of  abuse,  and  these 
hurricanes  of  universal  anathema,  with  the 
calmest  dignity.  He  never  once  lost  his 
temper  ;  he  never  returned  so  much  as  one 
angry  word  to  men  who  had  heaped  on 
him  every  species  of  abuse  and  contempt, 
and  of  whom  many  were  incomparably  his 
inferiors,  not  only  in  learning,  but  in  every 
grace. 

A  touch  of  humor  helped  him.  He  told 
me  how,  once,  seeing  an  English  bishop  at 
Euston  Station,  the  bishop,  to  his  great 
surprise,  advanced  most  cordially  to  meet 
him,  and  gave  him  a  warm  shake  of  the 
hand,  which  Colenso  as  warmly  returned. 
But,  alas !  the  next  moment  the  English 
prelate  said,  "  The  Bishop  of  Calcutta,  I 
believe?"  (or  some  other  see). 


224  MRN  I  HA  VE  KNO IVN. 

44  No,"  replied  Colenso,  "  the  Bishop  of 
Natal." 

The  effect,  he  said,  was  electrical.  The 
English  bishop  almost  rebounded  with  an 
"  Oh !  "  and  left  him  with  a  much-alarmed 
and  distant  bow,  as  if  after  shaking  hands 
with  him  he  needed  a  purifying  bath. 

Three  of  the  greatest  English  bishops  — 
Archbishop  Tait,  Bishop  Philpott,  and  Bishop 
Thirlwall  —  always  held  aloof  from  the  com- 
bination of  Colenso's  persecutors.  Yet  at 
the  very  time  that  all  the  "  religious  "  news- 
papers were  raving  at  him,  and  the  press 
teeming  with  long-forgotten  answers  to  him, 
—  answers  which  were  often  entirely  futile, 
and  involved  either  the  most  complete  igno- 
ratio  elencki,  or  an  untenable  casuistry  sea- 
soned with  disdainful  animadversion,  —  at 
that  very  time  he  was  receiving  the  hearty 
thanks  and  cordial  appreciation  of  some  of 
the  most  eminent  scholars  of  Germany. 
Men  of  European  fame  —  like  Professor 
Hupfeld  of  Halle  and  Professor  Kuenen  of 
Leyden  —  openly  expressed  their  admira- 
tion of  him,  and  their  obligations  to  him. 


BISHOP  COLENSO.  225 

French  pastors  like  the  Rev.  Theophilus 
Bost  wrote  cordially  about  him ;  and  the 
President  and  other  members  of  the  Com- 
mittee of  the  Liberal  Protestant  Union  of 
France  sent  him  an  address,  in  which  "  with 
outpoured  hearts  they  thanked  him,  because, 
impelled  by  love  of  truth  and  true  piety,  he 
had  commenced  a  work  which,  by  ecclesi- 
astical officialism,  was  charged  with  impiety 
and  sacrilege."  Bishops  and  ecclesiastics 
denounced  and  excommunicated  him  ;  and 
others  wrote  epigrams  like  — 

There  was  a  poor  Bishop  Colenso 
Who  counted  from  one  up  to  ten  so 

That  the  writings  Levitical 

He  found  were  uncritical, 
And  went  out  to  tell  the  black  men  so! 

Yet  the  Bishop  of  Natal  had  written, 
with  utter  self-sacrifice,  at  the  cost  of  all, 
for  the  sake  of  what  he  regarded  as  the 
truth.  When  questioned  about  the  literal 
accuracy  of  parts  of  Scripture,  which  were 
perhaps  never  meant  to  be  literally  under- 
stood, - 

"  My  heart,"  he   says,  "  answered   in    the 


22«  MEN  I  HAVE  KNOWN. 

words  of  the  prophet,  Shall  a  man  speak 
lies  in  the  name  of  the  Lord?  I  dared 
not  do  so." 

Future  times  will  remember  Bishop  Co- 
lenso  with  honor  and  gratitude,  when  the 
names  of  nineteen-twentieths  of  his  accusers 
have  been  buried  in  merciful  oblivion.  They 
will  remember  how,  almost  alone  among 
colonial  bishops,  he  not  only  devoted  nearly 
the  whole  of  his  years  to  the  duties  of  his 
see  until  his  death,  but  also  "  with  intense, 
indefatigable  labor,"  mastered  the  Zulu  lan- 
guage ;  produced  a  Zulu  grammar  and  dic- 
tionary;  translated  into  Zulu  much  of  the 
Bible  (correcting  inconceivably  frightful 
errors  in  some  small  previous  attempts)  ; 
and,  in  the  cause  of  the  oppressed,  braving 
all  hostile  combinations,  came  home  only 
to  plead  the  wrongs  of  Langalibalde,  and 
did  his  best  to  obtain  justice  for  King 
Cetshwayo. 

I  might  add  much  more  respecting  him  ; 
but  I  only  trust  that  his  countless  enemies 
and  impugners  may  have  been  enabled  to 
meet  their  last  hour  with  as  much  certainty 


BISHOP  Ol <  DURHAM.  227 

of  hearing  the  words,  "  Servant  of  Gocl,  well 
done !  "  as  this  bishop,  with  his  boundless 
self-sacrifice,  his  incorruptible  veracity,  the 
charm  of  his  simple  Christian  dignity,  the 
blameless  tenor  of  his  innocence,  and  the  sin- 
gular sweetness  and  serene  magnanimity  of 
a  temper  which  ever  returned  good  for  evil, 
and  blessing  for  unqualified  abuse. 

The  late  most  learned  and  altogether  ad- 
mirable BISHOP  OF  DURHAM  (Dr.  Lightfoot), 
whose  writings,  and  especially  his  Commen- 
taries on  the  Epistles  of  St.  Paul,  are  an 
imperishable  legacy  for  the  Church,  was  my 
private  tutor  in  my  last  year  at  Cambridge, 
and  remained  my  kind  friend  and  occasional 
correspondent  from  that  time  to  his  com- 
paratively early  and  deeply  lamented  death 
in  1890.  Even  as  a  boy,  when  he  was  at 
Birmingham  School  with  two  schoolfellows 
and  chief  friends  so  illustrious  as  his  suc- 
cessor, Bishop  Westcott,  and  the  late  Arch- 
bishop Benson  of  Canterbury,  he  was 
remarkable  for  his  scholarly  thoroughness 
and  unswerving  diligence.  It  is  no  small 


228  MEN  I  HA  VR  KNOWN. 

glory  to  the  late  Bishop  Prince  Lee  of 
Manchester,  that  he  should  have  counted 
three  such  theologians  among  his  sixth 
form  boys.  Dr.  Lee  chose  for  the  one 
word  on  his  tomb,  o-a\7r«ret,  "  the  trumpet 
shall  sound."  He  was  undoubtedly  &  remark- 
able and  inspiring  teacher ;  and  Archbishop 
Benson  told  me  that,  though  he  by  no 
means  made  a  point  of  looking  over  all  the 
exercises  which  the  boys  sent  up,  yet  when 
he  would  open  a  drawer  full  of  them  and 
choose  one  for  criticism,  he  used  to  deal 
with  it  in  a  way  so  masterly  as  never  to  be 
forgotten. 

One  day  he  saw  the  boy  Lightfoot  stand- 
ing on  his  desk,  and  called  out  in  Greek, 
^Kataba!  Kataba!  Kataba!  Kataba!" 
"  Get  down  !  " 

"  Katabesomai?  said  the  boy  in  his  very 
quiet  voice,  completing  the  iambic  line  of 
Aristophanes  ! 

Whatever  Lightfoot  undertook  he  com- 
pleted to  the  utmost  of  his  power  with  in- 
defatigable thoroughness ;  and  to  the  last 
day  of  his  life,  even  when  illness  had  laid 


BISHOP    LIGHTFOOT. 


BISHOP  OF  DURHAM.  229 

its  fatal  mark  upon  him,  he  labored  on  for 
the  good  of  his  diocese,  of  his  Church,  and 
of  the  world.  He  remained  by  choice  un- 
married, and  at  Auckland  Castle  found  no 
small  part  of  the  refreshment  and  interest 
of  his  life  in  the  society  of  the  young 
men  whom  he  generously  trained  for  Holy 
Orders. 

When  I  was  an  undergraduate,  I  remem- 
ber the  lesson  we   learned   from   seeing  the 

<::> 

steady  unvarying  light  of  his  lamp  burn- 
ing night  after  night  in  his  room  till  mid- 
night. He  allowed  himself  no  distraction 
except  the  afternoon  "constitutional,"  and 
in  summer  the  bathe  in  the  Cam,  to  which 
I  sometimes  accompanied  him.  He  became 
senior  classic,  although  in  Latin  and  Greek 
verse  he  never  showed  any  brilliancy,  and 
he  was  also  a  wrangler  and  a  fellow  of 
Trinity.  He  was  grieved  when,  by  some 
unaccountable  accident,  his  friend  Benson 
only  came  out  eighth  in  the  first  class  ; 
but,  pointing  to  his  name  as  senior  chan- 
cellor's medallist,  he  said,  "  I  think  that 
will  get  him  his  fellowship,"  -  as  it  did. 


230  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

In  the  comparatively  early  death  of  this 
great  bishop,  the  Church  of  England  suf- 
fered an  irreparable  loss.  Even  in  the 
dust  of  his  writings  there  was  gold,  and 
his  incidental  papers  and  sermons  are  full 
of  value.  I  once  ventured  to  remark  to 
the  late  Dean  Church  that  Dr.  Lightfoot, 
when  he  was  a  canon  of  St.  Paul's,  was 
to  me  a  far  more  interesting  preacher  than 
even  Canon  Liddon;  and  the  Dean,  who 
was  a  consummate  judge  in  such  matters, 
and  a  frequent  hearer  of  both  preachers, 
took  exactly  the  same  view. 

The  late  BISHOP  MOBERLY  of  Salisbury 
yearly  came  to  our  house  at  Marlborough 
to  confirm  some  hundred  or  more  carefully 
trained  boys  in  the  College  Chapel.  Hav- 
ing been  himself  a  head  master  for  many 
years  at  Winchester,  he  delighted  in  these 
annual  visits  to  a  great  school,  and  told  us 
that  he  reckoned  his  visit  to  Marlborough 
as  one  of  the  most  enjoyable  days  in  his 
episcopal  year.  At  that  time  he  was  already 
old,  and  had  to  sit  while  he  laid  his  hands 


BISHOP  MOBERL  Y.  231 

on  the  boys'  heads.  His  addresses  varied 
but  little  from  year  to  year,  which  is  more 
or  less  inevitable,  since  bishops  are  obliged 
to  administer  confirmation  perhaps  a  hundred 
or  more  times  annually.  But  the  addresses 
were  so  kindly,  so  sympathetic,  so  full  of 
rich  experience  and  wise  advice,  that  they 
were  always  listened  to  with  the  most  re- 
spectful attention.  Bishop  Moberly  was  a 
delightful  talker.  He  was  full  of  varied  rem- 
iniscences of  Oxford  and  Winchester  days. 

At  Oxford,  when  he  was  quite  a  young 
man,  he  was  tutor  at  Balliol  College,  and 
Manning  was  among  his  pupils.  Manning, 
as  a  youth,  was  full  of  eager  ability  and  self- 
confidence.  Bishop  Moberly  used  to  tell 
how  once,  in  construing  a  difficult  passage 
of  Thucyclides,  Manning  had  made  a  mistake 
which  he,  as  tutor,  immediately  corrected. 

"  Oh,  sir,"  said  the  young  Manning,  "  my 
rendering  is,  I  assure  you,  quite  tenable." 

He  said  it  with  such  conviction  that  Mr. 
Moberly  replied,  "  Well,  I  should  have  cer- 
tainly said  that  it  was  quite  wrong  ;  but  since 
you  are  so  sure  about  it,  I  will  look  at  it  again." 


232  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO IV N. 

He  did  so,  and  found  Manning's  render- 
ing absolutely  impossible.  Meeting  him  in 
the  quadrangle,  he  said,  — 

"  Mr.  Manning,  how  could  you  defend 
your  translation  of  that  passage  in  Tluicyd- 
ides  ?  It  was  quite  wrong." 

"Oh,    sir,"    said    Manning,    with    a    smile,, 
and  entirely  unabashed,  "didn't  you  observe 
that  I  had  not  looked  at  it  before  ?  " 

They  continued  to  correspond  with  each 
other  in  later  years.  One  day  Dr.  Moberly 
received  from  Manning  the  last  charge  which 
he  published  as  archdeacon.  Rumors  were 
already  ripe  that  Manning  was  about  to  join 
the  Church  of  Rome,  but  the  charge  was 
an  argument  on  the  other  side.  L)r.  Mo- 
berly wrote  back,  and  said,  — 

"  I  was  very  glad,  my  dear  Manning,  to 
receive  your  charge,  as  it  disproves  the  ru- 
mors about  your  leaving  our  communion." 

"  Dear  Dr.  Moberly,"  was  the  reply,  "  in 
my  charge  I  have  stated  the  case  of  the 
Church  of  England.  I  only  wish  that  it 
were  tenable." 

Very  shortly  afterwards  it  was  publicly  an- 


BISHOP  WORDSWORTH.  233 

nounced  that  the  Archdeacon  of  Chichester 
had  joined  the  Church  of  Rome. 

In  this  chapter  I  will  mention  only  one 
more  prelate,  the  very  learned  and  eminent 
BISHOP  WORDSWORTH  of  Lincoln.  I  met  him 
first  at  a  dinner-party  at  Dean  Blakesley's  in 
Lincoln,  and  he  thanked  me  very  graciously 
for  the  sermon  I  had  preached  for  Lincoln 
Hospital.  I  was  one  of  his  successors  in 
the  Archdeaconry  of  Westminster,  which  he 
h;-ld  for  a  long  series  of  years,  and  this  led 
to  some  communications  between  us.  Few 
men  have  achieved,  as  he  did,  a  commentary 
on  the  whole  of  Scripture.  It  is  in  many 
respects  a  very  learned  and  helpful  work, 
though  now  in  parts  practically  obsolete. 
This  will  remain  as  a  permanent  monument 
of  his  diligence  and  genius,  and  it  was  only 
one  of  many  valuable  works  which  years  of 
leisure  enabled  him  to  elaborate.  He  was  a 
very  powerful,  yet  personally  charitable,  con- 
troversalist  against  the  Church  of  Rome. 
On  one  occasion  one  of  his  old  Harrow  pu- 
pils —  he  had  for  a  time  held  the  head  mas- 


234  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

tership  of  Harrow,  a  post  for  which  he  was 
ill-fitted,  and  in  which  he  was  far  from  suc- 
cessful—  entered  Westminster  Abbey  while 
he  was  preaching,  and  asked  the  verger 
what  was  the  subject  of  his  sermon. 

"  Oh,  sir,"  said  the  verger,  "  it  is  the 
old  story;  he  is  giving  it  to  the1  Pope!" 

His  sermons  were  usually  very  long,  yet 
on  one  occasion,  having  only  four  Sundays 
in  his  month  of  residence,  and  wishing  to 
preach  five  sermons  of  a  course,  he  an- 
nounced to  his  congregation  at  the  end  of 
his  fourth  sermon  that  he  now  intended,  then 
and  there,  to  preach  the  fifth  on  the  top  of 
it ;  and  it  is  recorded  that  some  of  the  con- 
gregation actually  sat  out  both  sermons ! 

One  of  my  predecessors  at  St.  Margaret's, 
the  Syriac  scholar,  Canon  Cureton,  had  a 
son  at  Westminster  School,  and  whenever 
the  canon  preached  too  long  a  sermon,  the 
boys  used  to  thrash  his  son  !  When  Dean 
Trench  was  informed  of  this,  he  remarked 
with  a  deep  sigh,  "  Oh,  how  I  wish  that 
Canon  Wordsworth  also  had  a  son  at  the 
school !  " 


BISHOP    WORDSWORTH. 


BISHOP  WORDSWORTH.  235 

There  was  something  very  original  about 
Bishop  Wordsworth's  ways.  On  one  occa- 
sion, standing  at  my  door  in  Dean's  Yard, 
I  saw  a  curious  figure  approaching  me, 
with  a  scarlet  robe  huddled  up  about  his 
neck  and  face  to  protect  him  from  the  cold. 
It  was  Bishop  Wordsworth  in  his  Convoca- 
tion dress.  "Affulsit  screna  lux"  he  said 
to  me,  "affulsit  serena  lux"  This  benefi- 
cient  beam  of  light  was,  as  he  proceeded 
to  explain,  the  settlement  of  some  minute 
point  in  the  Upper  House  of  Convocation ! 

His  conversation  was  often  a  sort  of 
thinking  aloud.  Once  in  his  private  chapel, 
at  family  prayers,  something  in  the  lesson 
led  him  to  allude  to  the  Papal  claims,  and 
he  kept  all  the  servants  and  household  an 
indefinite  time,  learnedly  —  and  with  perfect 
oblivion  of  the  circumstances  —  disproving 
to  them  all  grounds  for  the  dogma  of  Papal 
infallibility. 

In  his  speeches  he  seemed  at  times  to 
be  no  less  oblivious  of  his  audience.  I 
heard  him  once  at  a  Church  Congress 

c"> 

meeting    in   Lincoln.      He   got    hold   of  St. 


23(5  MEN  I  HA  VE  A'JVO  WN. 

Bernard's  words,  Deargcntcmus  pcnnas  — 
"  Let  us  besilver  our  wings."  Talking  on 
in  an  abstracted  way,  as  if  lie  were  think- 
ing aloud  and  had  become  unconscious  of 
the  throng  of  persons  whom  he  was  ad- 
dressing, he  repeated  the  words  again  and 
again,  and  enforced  the  duty  of  making  our 
wings  like  the  wings  of  a  dove,  which  is 
covered  with  silver  wings,  and  her  feathers 
like  gold. 


EARL  OF  BEACONSFIE.LD. 


IX. 


THE  EARL  OF  BEACONSFIELD, 
LORD  LYTTON,  AND  THE  EARL  OF  LYTTON. 

WHEN  I  was  rector  of  St.  Margaret's, 
Westminster,  the  Prime  Minister  of  the  day, 
if  he  lived  in  his  official  residence  in  Down- 
ing Street,  was  always  one  of  my  parishion- 
ers. This  was  not  due  to  any  prerogative 
of  that  ancient  historic  church  —  which  nes- 
tles under  the  shadow  of  the  great  Abbey, 
and  is  as  old  as  the  Abbey  itself,  being 
meant  for  the  population  ;  whereas  the 
Abbey  church  was  mainly  for  the  monks. 
It  was  simply  due  to  the  circumstances  that 
the  parish  attached  to  the  church  extends  as 
far  as  Whitehall.  But  owing  to  this  fact  I 
have  had  interviews  with  most  of  the  Pre- 
miers and  Chancellors  of  the  Exchequer  who 
lived  in  their  official  houses  during  the  nine- 
teen years  that  I  was  rector  of  the  Church 

237 


238  MEN  I  HA  I'E  A'ATO  WN. 

of  the  House  of  Commons ;  as  also  with 
several  of  the  First  Lords  of  the  Admiralty 
-such  as  that  kindly  and  truly  good  man, 
Mr.  W.  H.  Smith,  whose  guest  I  have  been 
on  various  occasions.  But  the  EARL  OF 
BEACONSFIELD,  both  during  the  later  years  of 
his  life,  and  since  his  death,  has  loomed  so 
large  upon  the  popular  imagination  that  any 
anecdote  about  him  will  be  received  with 
interest. 

To  me  he  was  always  conspicuously  kind, 
though  he  was  perfectly  well  aware  that  I 
belonged  to  the  Liberal  school  of  politics. 
It  was  he  who,  when  I  was  Master  of  Marl- 
borough  College,  offered  me  the  important 
and  valuable  Vicarage  of  Halifax,  which, 
however,  I  was  unable  to  accept.  He  next 
offered  me  the  Canonry  of  Westminster, 
which  is  attached  by  Act  of  Parliament  to 
the  Rectory  of  St.  Margaret's.  I  kept  him 
long  waiting  for  an  answer;  for  at  that  time 
I  had  had  no  experience  in  parochial  work, 
and  in  those  days  the  parish  was  not  only 
far  more  densely  populous,  but  also  un- 
speakably more  wretched  than  it  was  sub- 


<*     X2,€jft_~^l 

A 


/ 


EARL  OF  BEACONSFIELD.  239 

sequently.  Had  I  followed  my  own  inclina- 
tion, I  should  have  shrunk  from  so  heavy  a 
burden,  and  all  the  more  because  the  church 
itself  was  then  as  repellently  unattractive, 
with  its  church-wardens'  Gothic  and  hideous 
galleries,  as  it  subsequently  became  beautiful 
•and  interesting.  But  on  consulting  friends 
of  some  distinction  in  the  Church,  they  ad- 
vised me  to  accept  the  offer,  and  I  did  so. 

Dean  Wellesley  told  me  afterwards  that  if 
I  had  asked  his  advice  he  would  have  recom- 
mended me  to  decline ;  and  that,  in  that 
case,  it  was  certain  a  higher  office  would 
have  speedily  been  placed  at  my  disposal. 
I  do  not,  however,  in  the  least  regret  this, 
though  I  was  assured  on  the  highest  author- 
ity that  the  only  reason  which  deterred  Lord 
Beaconsfield  from  placing  further  offers  at 
my  disposal  was  the  outburst  of  denun- 
ciation which  followed  the  publishing  of  my 
sermons  on  "  Eternal  Hope."  This  is  no 
more  a  subject  of  regret  to  me  than  the 
other.  The  determination  of  our  little  des- 
tinies lies  in  hands  far  higher  than  our 
own,  and  I  have  every  reason  to  thank  God 


240  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  \VN. 

that,  throughout  my  life,  the  lot  has,  by 
his  mercy,  fallen  to  me  in  pleasant  places. 
When  some  kind  friend  said  to  Mr.  Disraeli, 
as  he  then  \vas,  "  Why,  you  have  given 
preferment  to  a  strong  Radical"  (a  remark 
which  certainly  required  modification) — he 
only  answered,  with  a  laugh,  that  perhaps 
I  should  in  time  be  brought  round  to  his 
own  views. 

He  came  on  one  occasion  to  hear  me 
preach  at  the  Abbey,  having  been  taken 
there  by  Dean  Stanley ;  and  he  was  good 
enough  to  express  approval  of  what  he 
heard.  But  my  most  characteristic  reminis- 
cences of  him  are  connected  with  a  long 
interview  which  I  had  with  him  in  Downing 
Street.  I  had  taken  some  direct  part,  and 
had  been  deeply  interested  in,  an  exhibition 
by  working-men  of  articles  made  by  them- 
selves, which  had  (I  think)  been  originally 
suggested  by  my  friend  the  Rev.  H.  E.  Fox, 
who  was  then  vicar  of  Christ  Church,  West- 
minster. 

Several  persons  of  high  rank  and  great 
eminence  had  visited  this  exhibition,  to  which 


EARL  OF  BEACONSFIELD.  241 

some  two  thousand  working-men  and  their 
children  had  contributed.  Among  these  vis- 
itors was  H.R.H.  the  late  Duke  of  Albany, 
who  asked  me  to  come  and  see  him  at 
Buckingham  Palace,  to  drive  with  him  in  a 
broucrham  to  the  exhibition,  and  to  con- 

£3 

duct  him  over  it.  I  did  so,  and  he  was  ex- 
tremely struck — as  I  was  myself,  and  as  all 
the  most  observant  visitors  were  —  by  the 
beauty,  the  variety,  and  the  ingenuity  of  the 
exhibits.  This  was  all  the  more  remarkable 
because  it  was  a  curious  condition  of  the 
exhibition  that  every  working-man  should 
offer  in  competition  for  the  prizes  some  ar- 
ticle of  his  own  making  which  was  not  within 
the  sphere  of  his  immediate  trade.  I  do  not 
think  that  such  exhibitions  have  been  by  any 
means  common,  and  I  am  quite  sure  that 
they  might  be  multiplied  with  advantage. 
Any  one  who  saw  what  English  working-men 
could  do  with  ease  in  all  sorts  of  lines  would, 
I  think,  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that,  if 
the  mechanical  and  inventive  genius  of  our 
countrymen  were  carefully  trained  and  en- 
couraged, we  could  not  possibly  have  any- 


242  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

thing-  to  fear  from  the  competition  of  articles 
"  made  in  Germany." 

The  exhibition  remained  open  for  a 
month  or  two.  The  experts  who  decided 
the  prizes  had  given  their  awards,  and  I  now 
wished  the  temporary  building  to  be  closed 
and  the  prizes  distributed.  Lord  Beacons- 
field  was  then  Prime  Minister,  and  I  was 
very  anxious  that  he  should  take  the  chair 
on  the  occasion,  and  should  with  his  own 
hand  give  the  prizes  to  the  successful  com- 
petitors. I  had  very  little  hope  that  he 
would  accede  to  my  request  that  he  should 
do  so,  because  I  was  aware  how  much,  at 
that  time,  his  hours  were  occupied  by  the 
heavy  cares  of  public  business  ;  and  because, 
even  when  he  was  in  Opposition,  his  public 
appearances,  even  at  great  political  gather- 
ings, were  not  numerous. 

I  pointed  out  to  him,  however,  that  there 
would  be  not  only  a  general  but  even  a 
political  importance  in  his  presiding  at  a 
function  which  had  something  of  a  national 
significance,  and  would  cause  the  highest 
gratification  to  the  two  thousand  working- 


EARL  OF  BEACONSFIELD.  243 

men  who  had  furnished  their  best  treasures  to 
the  exhibition.  He  saw  the  force  of  these 
considerations,  and  asked  me  to  pay  him  a 
visit  in  Downing  Street.  The  Prime  Minister 
usually  sits  in  a  pleasant  inner  room,  looking 
out  on  St.  James's  Park,  which  is  approached 
through  a  large  reception  room.  I  was  re- 
ceived by  Mr.  Montagu  Corrie,  afterwards 
Lord  Rowton,  whom  I  remembered  as  an 
old  Harrovian.  He  showed  me  into  Lord 
Beaconsneld's  room,  and  I  soon  saw  from 
his  remarks  that  what  the  Premier  dreaded 
was  the  trouble  of  having  to  prepare  a 
speech  on  an  unfamiliar  subject.  Anticipat- 
ing this,  I  had  drawn  up  a  little  paper, 
pointing  out  the  value  and  importance  of 
such  exhibitions,  and  some  of  the  special 
ways  in  which  working-men  might  gain  from 
the  report  of  experts  upon  their  productions. 
By  way  of  instance  I  mentioned  that  some 
excellent  musical  instruments  had  been  ex- 
hibited ;  but  two  of  them  were,  in  spite  of 
other  merits,  essentially  faulty  in  principle. 
For  instance,  one  man  had  sent  an  octagonal 
stringed  instrument,  a  mistake  which  he 


244  MEN  J  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

would  never  again  commit  when  authorita- 
tively told  that  the  geometrical  shape  of  the 
instrument  interfered  with  the  purity  of  the 
tones.  Another  —  a  blacksmith  —  had  made 
a  still  more  serious  mistake  by  sending  in  a 
violin  made  of  metal,  being  obviously  un- 
aware that  the  resonance  of  the  metal  would 
materially  injure  the  vibrations  of  the 
strings.  Notes  of  this  kind  were  exactly 
what  the  Prime  Minister  wanted,  and  when 
he  came  to  distribute  the  prizes  I  was 
amused  with  the  effective  use  he  made  of 
them.  For  instance,  he  pointed  out  the  mis- 
takes in  construction  of  the  instruments. 
"  There  is,  for  instance,"  he  said,  "  my 
friend  Mr.  So-and-So,  who  is  a  blacksmith, — 
/  shall  a/ways  think  of  him  as  '  the  har- 
monious blacksmith]  —  whose  violin  is  of 
metal.  Now,  this  is  a  fundamental  error ; 
for,"  etc. 

But  the  chief  charm  of  the  distribution  of 
prizes  —  at  which  the  Speaker,  Lord  James, 
Mr.  W.  H.  Smith,  and  other  persons  of  dis- 
tinction were  present  —  was  the  happy  way 
in  which  Lord  Beaconsfield  handed  their 


LORD  LYTTON.  245 

prizes  to  the  children  who  had  been  success- 
ful. He  said  the  same  words  of  simple 
congratulation  to  each  little  boy  or  girl,  but 
as  he  spoke  them  he  smiled  on  the  chil- 
dren with  genuine  benignity,  patted  them 
on  the  head,  or  took  them  by  the  hand, 
and  sent  them  away  highly  delighted.  It 
will  always  be  to  me  a  pleasant  recollection 
that  as  I  left  Lord  Beaconsfield  he  rose, 
took  me  by  the  arm,  walked  with  me  across 
the  great  reception  room,  and  as  he  handed 
me  over  to  Mr.  Corrie  at  the  door,  said 
very  genially,  "Dr.  F'arrar,  I  have  always 
felt  a  sincere  regard  for  you."  They  were 
the  last  words  I  ever  heard  him  speak. 

LORD  LYTTON,  the  first  who  bore  the  title, 
was  the  father  of  the  late  Earl  of  Lytton, 
who  was  promoted  to  the  Earldom  when  he 
ceased  to  be  Viceroy  of  India.  The  first 
Lord  Lytton  was  perhaps  more  universally 
known  under  the  names  of  Sir  Edward 
Bulwer,  or  Sir  Edward  Bulwer  Lytton,  under 
which  many  of  his  most  famous  novels  ap- 
peared. He  was  not  only  a  man  of  genius, 


L'46  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

but  also  a  man  of  wide  reading  and  great 
attainments,  who  achieved  success  in  many 
directions.  Besides  his  chief  work  as  a  nov- 
elist, he  wrote  some  poems,  which,  if  they 
did  not  reach  a  high  rank  as  poems,  could 
yet  hardly  have  been  written  by  any  one 
but  a  very  able  man.  He  wrote  a  history 
of  Greece  ;  he  was  a  frequent  contributor  to 
miscellaneous  literature,  and  some  of  his 
isolated  papers,  though  now  little  known, 
were  full  of  charm  and  insight.  He  was 
also  a  statesman,  and  was  made  Secretary 
of  State  for  the  Colonies  in  1858.  As  a 
dramatist  he  was  so  successful  that  his 
Lady  of  Lyons  and  his  Richelieu  still  hold 
the:r  place  on  the  stage,  and  his  comedy 
of  Money  was  extremely  popular.  He  be- 
gan his  literary  career  by  winning  the  chan- 
cellor's medal  for  a  poem  on  "  Sculpture," 
in  1825.  One  of  the  earliest  of  his  novels 
to  arouse  attention  was  Eugene  Aram,  a 
subject  which  was,  it  is  said,  suggested  to 
him  by  the  fact  that  the  wretched  murderer 
had  taught  in  the  family  of  his  grandfather. 
His  fame  was  established  by  The  Last  Days 


' ••*• —Xs* 


>*^     , 


j; 


y 


, 


LORD  LYTTON.  247 

of  Pompeii,  and  Rienzi,  the  Last  of  ike  Trib- 
unes, in  1835.  The  custodian  at  Pompeii  told 
me  very  recently  that  in  the  ruins  of  the  old 
city  no  name  was  more  frequently  mentioned 
than  that  of  Bulwer;  and  at  Rome  those  who 
look  with  interest  on  the  spot  where  Rienzi 
fell  constantly  refer  to  Lord  Lytton's  novel. 

I  forget  exactly  how  it  was  that  he  first 
wrote  to  me,  but  it  came  about  in  this  way. 
He  had  long  been  engaged  upon  a  transla- 
tion of  the  Odes  and  Epodes  of  Horace, 
which  was  very  favorably  received.  It  was 
published  in  1872,  and  has  passed  through 
more  than  one  edition.  Some  of  his  rhyme- 
less  versions  —  which  attempted  rather  to 
catch  the  lilt  and  echo  of  the  original  than 
to  reproduce  the  odes  in  the  ancient  metres, 
which  I  in  vain  tried  to  induce  him  to  at- 
tempt in  English  —  are  happy  and  graceful ; 
particularly  a  very  charming  rendering  of 
the  second  Epode,  "  Bcatus  ille  qui  procul 
ncgotiis ;"  but  the  little  introductory  remarks 
to  the  poems  are  the  most  interesting  ele- 
ment in  the  book.  He  dedicated  the  book 
to  me  in  1872  ;  he  died  early  in  1873. 


MEN  I  HA  YE  KNO  \VN. 

Not  out  of  vanity,  nor  as  accepting  Lord 
Lytton's  far  too  generous  praise,  but  only 
to  show  the  kindness  of  his  heart,  I  quote 
a  part  of  his  dedication,  which  ran  as  fol- 
lows :  "To  the  Rev.  F.  W.  Farrar,  D.D., 
Master  of  Marlborough  College,  in  admira- 
tion of  an  intellect  enriched  by  the  variety 
of  culture  which  gives  renown  to  the  Scholar, 
ennobled  by  the  unity  of  purpose  which 
blends  the  vocations  of  the  Scholar  with  the 
mission  of  the  Divine.  .  .  .  Indulgence  is 
necessarily  the  greatest  amongst  those  most 
indulgent  as  to  man's  weakness,  if  most  ex- 

o 

actinor   as   to   man's   strength,   THE  SEEKERS 

o  o 

AFTER    GOD." 

As  Lord  Lytton  was  not  in  the  closer 
technical  sense  a  classical  scholar,  he  wished 
his  book  to  be  revised,  page  after  page,  by 
some  one  who  would,  he  thought,  be  able  to 
correct  any  slight  errors  into  which  he  might 
fall.  He  had  asked  Dr.  B.  H.  Kennedy,  the 
distinguished  Master  of  Shrewsbury  School, 
to  perform  this  task  for  him  ;  but  when  Dr. 
Kennedy,  who  was  then  in  advanced  age, 
was  unable  to  face  the  labor,  he  asked  me 


LORD  LYTTON.  249 

to  undertake  it.  I  did  so  with  the  best  care 
I  could  in  the  midst  of  a  busy  life.  There 
were  some  actual  mistakes,  but  not  many.  I 
subjected  the  translation,  however,  to  a  close 
scrutiny,  and  criticised  the  pages  as  Lord 
Lytton  sent  them  to  me,  closely  and  fully, 
venturing  to  make  not  a  few  suggestions  ; 
and  I  reviewed  the  book  in  the  Quarterly 
Revieiv  for  October,  1869. 

One  lesson  the  pleasant  task  brought 
home  to  my  mind  very  vividly  ;  it  was  the 
immense  labor  which  Lord  Lytton  brought 
to  bear  on  all  his  works.  Buffon  says 
somewhere,  "La  Genie  c'cst  la  patience''  I 
have,  unfortunately,  mislaid  a  mass  of  letters 
which  I  received  from  Lord  Lvtton  about 

j 

his    renderings,    and     he    would    sometimes 

o     ' 

write   more  than   one   letter   about   a   sino-le 

o 

phrase.  He  rewarded  me  most  amply  for 
a  purely  friendly  and  voluntary  task,  first,  by 
his  too  appreciative  dedication  ;  next,  by 
sending  to  Mrs.  Farrar,  with  gracious  kind- 
ness, a  costly  and  beautiful  dessert  service 
in  Berlin  china;  and  thirdly,  by  always  deal- 
ing with  me  as  a  friend  for  whom  he  had  a 


250  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

regard.     I  append  the  only  letter  of  his  on 
•which  I  can  lay  my  hands  at  this  moment. 
I   was    several   times   his  guest  at   Kneb- 

O 

worth.  It  was  a  truly  delightful  house  at 
which  to  stay.  The  dining-hall  —  with  its 
panelling  and  gallery,  its  overhanging  ban- 
ners, and  its  suits  of  armor  that  belonged  to 
Lord  Lytton's  ancestors : — was  very  beauti- 
ful, as  were  also  the  drawing-room  and  the 
long  corridor,  full  of  interesting  books  and 
objects  of  art.  On  a  side  table  of  the  draw- 
ing-room, under  a  glass  case,  was  a  skull  of 
remarkable  formation  —  evidently  the  skull 
of  some  man  of  marked  genius  —  which  had 
been  found  at  Pompeii,  and  which  suggested 
to  Lord  Lytton  the  character  of  Arbaces, 
the  Egyptian  priest  of  the  Temple  of  Isis. 
Some  also  of  the  pictures  were  interesting, 
and  had  histories  attached  to  them.  The 
host  laid  himself  out  to  make  our  visits  de- 
lightful. One  generally  met  there  some  per- 
sons of  literary  note,  such  as  his  son,  Robert 
Lytton  (Owen  Meredith),  the  Rev.  Charles 
Young,  John  Forster,  and  others.  We  once 
paid  him  a  visit  from  Saturday  till  Monday, 


LORD  LYTTON.  251 

accompanied  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Matthew 
Arnold  and  the  Duke  of  Genoa,  who  was 
then  in  my  pupil-room  at  Harrow.  Break- 
fast was  sometimes  spread  under  the  trees 
on  the  lawn,  and  luncheon  would  be  had  in 
a  boat  on  the  lake. 

It  was  pleasant  to  walk  about  the  grounds 
at  Knebworth  ;  they  were  full  of  monuments 
and  inscriptions.  One  was  a  funeral  memo- 
rial to  his  mother,  from  whom  he  inherited 
Knebworth.  On  it  were  inscribed  lines  of 
his  own,  ending  with  — 

See  how  high  in  heaven 
The  mounting  column  leaves  the  funeral  urn. 

Another  bore  a  very  sad  inscription  to  a 
favorite  dog,  to  the  purport  that  since  it 
died  there  was  no  one  so  eao-er  to  welcome 

c> 

the  return,  or  regret  the  absence,  of  its 
lonely  master. 

One  part  of  the  grounds  was  known  as 
"  the  Horace  Garden."  Horace  was  Lord 
Lytton's  favorite  author,  and  this  secluded 
walk  was  surrounded  with  busts  of  Augus- 
tus, Maecenas,  Horace  himself,  and  many  of 


252  MEN  I  HAVE  KNOWN. 

the  friends  mentioned  in  his  Odes,  with  the 
relevant  passages  carved  beneath. 

One  afternoon  Lord  Lytton  drove  us  a 
delightful  excursion  to  Panshanger,  where 
we  saw,  among  other  paintings,  the  famous 
Madonna  of  Raphael ;  and  to  Brocket  Hall, 
once  the  favorite  residence  of  Lord  Palm- 
erston.  I  drove  back  in  one  of  the  car- 
riages alone  with  my  host.  He  was  in  one 
of  his  recurrent  melancholy  moods,  and 
asked  me  "  whether  I  thought  that  most 
marriages  were  happy?"  I  answered  with- 
out the  least  hesitation  that  I  believed  they 
were.  I  knew  from  personal  experience 
what  matrimony  might  be,  and  while  freely 
admitting,  with  the  poet,  that  — 

It  locally  contains  or  hell,   or  heaven, 
There  is  no  third  place  in  it, 

I  added  that,  looking  round  on  a  very- 
large  circle  of  friends  and  acquaintances, 
there  was  scarcely  one  among  them  whose 
marriage  had  not  proved  to  be  a  source  of 
the  richest  blessings.  It  is,  of  course,  no 
secret  that  Lord  Lytton's  own  marriage 


LORD  LYTTON.  253 

was  not  happy,  and  ended  in  long"  years 
of  separation.  After  hearing  what  I  said, 
he  answered,  — 

"  I  wish  I  could  agree  with  you  ;  I  fear 
that  most  marriages  are  unhappy." 

He  was  much  interested  in  spiritualism, 
and  told  me  one  curious  experience  of  his 
own.  When  he  was  first  made  a  Minister 
by  Lord  Derby,  he  accepted  the  offer ;  but 
the  morning  after  his  acceptance  he  re- 
ceived a  letter  from  a  total  stranger,  saying 
that,  as  a  Conservative  Ministry  had  come 
in,  he  doubtless  expected  an  invitation  to 
a  place  in  the  Cabinet,  but  that  in  this  ex- 
pectation he  was  mistaken.  The  writer  pro- 
fessed to  know,  in  some  occult  way,  that 
Sir  Edward  (as  he  then  was)  would  not  at 
that  time  become  a  member  of  the  Ministry, 
but  might  become  so  at  some  later  period. 
Lord  Lytton  put  the  letter  aside,  thinking, 
"In  this  case,  at  any  rate,  the  astrologer  or 
spiritualist  is  hopelessly  wrong."  Yet  the 
statement  of  the  letter  proved  to  be  true. 
He  found  in  a  few  days  that  if  he  offered 
himself  for  re-election  for  the  town  of  Hert- 


254  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

ford,  on  accepting  a  post  in  the  Cabinet, 
it  was  extremely  doubtful  whether  he  would 
be  elected  or  not.  He  knew  that  a  defeat 
under  such  circumstances  would  be  a  blow 
to  the  new  administration,  and  he  wrote  to 
Lord  Derby  offering  to  forego  for  this  rea- 
son the  post  which  he  had  accepted.  His 
generous  suggestion  was  gratefully  wel- 
comed, and  it  was  not  till  afterwards  that 
he  became  Secretary  for  the  Colonies. 

If  I  remember  rightly,  it  was  owing,  in 
part  at  least,  to  Sir  E.  Bulwer  Lytton's 
suggestion,  that  Mr.  Gladstone  was  sent  on 
his  famous  commission  to  the  Ionian  Islands. 
At  any  rate,  on  this  or  some  other  occasion 
he  had  to  travel  down  with  Mr.  Gladstone 
to  Windsor.  It  happened  that  a  Colonial 
mayor  was  also  going  to  Windsor  to  be 
knighted,  and  got  into  the  saloon  carriage 
with  the  minister  and  Mr.  Gladstone,  ac- 
companied by  his  mace-bearer,  or  some  sim- 
ilar official.  This  was  quite  contrary  to  eti- 
quette, and  Mr.  Gladstone  told  the  mace- 
bearer  very  courteously  that  he  ought  to  go 
down  in  another  carriage. 


LORD  LYTTON.  255 

The  man's  only  reply  was,  "  Wherever  the 
Mayor  of goes,  I  shall  go  !  " 

Then  Mr.  Gladstone  again  explained  to 
him  the  reason  why  it  was  really  out  of  the 
question  that  he  should  occupy  that  car- 
riage ;  but  argument  and  expostulation  were 
quite  unavailing,  and  the  man,  with  bovine 
impenetrability,  intrenched  himself  in  the 
one  unvarying  sentence,  repeated  at  every 
pause,  — 

"  Wherever  the  Mayor  of goes,  I  shall 

go!" 

All  eloquence  was  unavailing ;  and  at 
Windsor  and  everywhere  else,  wherever  the 
mayor  went,  the  inseparable  mace -bearer 
determined  to  accompany  him  ! 

I  had  two  disappointments  in  connection 
with  Lord  Lytton.  He  once  sent  us  tickets 
to  go  and  see  his  Sea- Captain,  —  I  think 
that  was  the  title  of  the  play,  —  which  was  to 
be  acted  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hermann  Vezin. 
He  had  sent  me  a  copy  of  the  play,  and  I 
thought  parts  of  it  very  fine.  But  when  we 
got  to  the  theatre  door,  we  found  it  closed, 
with  a  notice  on  it  to  say  that  Mrs.  Her- 


256  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

mann  Vezin  was  ill,  and  could  not  act  that 
night.  I  am  not  sure  that  the  play  ever 
found  its  way  upon  the  boards  at  all. 

Another  time,  Lord  Lytton  —  then  Sir 
Edward — was  to  have  spoken  on  some 
great  question  in  the  House  of  Commons. 
He  had  a  high  reputation  as  an  orator,  and 
whenever  he  spoke  the  House  was  sure  to 
be  full.  The  sergeant-at-arms  has  a  private 
gallery,  and  my  kind  friend,  Lord  Charles 
Russell,  who  then  held  the  office,  constantly 
lent  Mrs.  Farrar  and  me  his  gallery,  thus 
enabling  us  to  have  the  high  intellectual 
pleasure  of  hearing  a  great  debate.  But 
the  orator  was  ill  that  evening,  and  we  lost 
the  opportunity  of  hearing  him. 

Even  his  slightest  speeches  had  a  certain 
grace  in  them.  At  a  public,  dinner  he  had 
to  propose  the  toast  of  "  The  Ladies."  His 
speech,  put  in  a  far  more  graceful  form  than 
I  can  reproduce,  was  to  this  effect :  - 

"  A  great  philosopher  tells  us  that  we  should  con- 
stantly lift  our  eyes  to  the  heavens  and  contemplate 
the  stars.  I  follow  his  advice,  and  in  lifting  my  eyes 
to  the  heavens  and  looking  at  the  stars,  I  propose  the 
toast  of  '  The  Ladies.'  " 


THE    EARL    OF    LYTTON. 


EARL  LYTTON.  257 

Lord  Lytton  was  a  man  of  keen  political 
insight.  He  once  showed  me  a  book  which 
had  been  given  him  by  Louis  Napoleon 
when  the  future  emperor  was  an  impecu- 
nious exile,  as  a  young  man,  in  London. 
Under  the  prince's  autograph  he  had  writ- 
ten a  most  remarkable  prognostication  of 
his  future  career,  which  had  been  curiously 
fulfilled  almost  to  the  letter.  , 

One  evening  the  gentlemen  who  were  his 
guests  were  sitting  up  smoking  to  a  late 
hour.  The  conversation  turned  on  religious 
subjects.  I  was  the  only  clergyman  present, 
and  many  questions  were  put  to  me.  I  an- 
swered them  frankly  and  fully,  and  found 
in  Lord  Lytton  especially  a  very  earnest  and 
sympathetic  listener.  Attacks  were  often 
made  upon  him  both  in  public  and  private  ; 
but  all  that  I  saw  of  him  made  me  regard 
him  as  kind,  high-minded,  and  sincere  ;  un- 
prejudiced in  his  sympathies,  and  anxious 
to  make  those  about  him  happy. 

I  knew  ROBERT,  first  EARL  OF  LYTTON,  even 
more  intimately  than  I  knew  his  illustrious 


258  MEN  I  HA  VR  KNO  \VN. 

father ;  and  during  the  time  that  he  was  con- 
nected with  the  British  Embassies  at  Paris 
and  at  Vienna,  as  well  as  during  the  time 
that  he  was  Viceroy  of  India,  and  after  his 
return,  he  wrote  me  long  and  affectionate 
letters.  My  clear  son,  Cyril  Lytton  Farrar, 
was  his  godson,  and  was  named  after  him; 
and  when  this  glad-hearted  and  gifted  youth 
died  at  Peking,  at  the  age  of  twenty-one, 
Lord  Lytton  contributed  the  lines  placed 
under  the  memorial  window  in  the  vestry  at 
St.  Margaret's,  of  which  a  facsimile  is  here 
given. 

The  Earl  of  Lytton  disparaged  his  own 
poetic  gifts,  but  he  wrote  much  that  is  of 
high  excellence.  None  but  a  poet  could 
have  written  such  lines  as  these  in  Tatui- 
Jiauscr,  — 

Ah,  deeper  dole, 

That  so  august  a  spirit,  shrined  so  fair. 
Should,  from  the  starry  session  of  his  peers, 
Decline  to  quench  so  keen  a  brilliancy 
In  Hell's  sick  spume!  —  ah  me,  the  deeper  dole!  — 

or  than  these  in  his  two  very  remarkable 
volumes  of  Chronicles  and  Characters  —  a 


9 


O 


2?<s«<<, 


EARL  LYTTON.  259 

really  brilliant  series  of  poems,  of  which  the 
idea  was  suggested  by  Victor  Hugo's  Le- 
gendes  des  Siecles, — 

Behind  the  hosts  of  suns  and  stars,  behind 
The  rushing  of  the  chariots  of  the  wind, 
Behind  all  noises  and  all  shapes  of  things, 
And  men  and  deeds,  behind  the  blaze  of  kings, 
Princes,  and  Paladins,  and  Potentates, 
An  immense  solitary  Spectre  waits. 
It  has  no  shape  ;  it  has  no  sound  ;   it  has 
No  place  ;  it  has  no  time  ;  it  is,   and  was, 
And  will  be  :  it  is  never  more,  nor  less, 
Nor  glad,  nor  sad  —  its  name  is  Nothingness. 
Power  walketh  high  ;   and  Misery  doth  crawl ; 
And  the  clepsydra  drips  ;  and  the  sands  fall 
Down  in  the  hour-glass;  and  the  shadows  sweep 
Around  the  dial ;  and  men  awake  and  sleep, 
Live,  strive,  regret,  forget,  and  love,  and  hate, 
And  know  it  not.     This  Spectre  saith,  "I  wait;" 
And  at  the  last  it  beckons,  and  they  pass. 
And  still  the  red  sands  fall  within  the  glass; 
And  still  the  shades  around  the  dial  sweep  ; 
And  still  the  waterclock  doth  drip  and  weep : 
And  this  is  all. 

Multitudes  of  passages  might  be  quoted 
from  his  other  poems  —  and  especially  from 
his  Fables  in  Song  —  which  any  poet  might 
have  been  glad  to  write. 


2GO  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  \VN. 

I  first  met  him,  if  I  remember  rightly,  at 
one  of  Mr.  Macmillan's  Balham  reunions, 
but  also  several  times  at  Knebworth  and  in 
London.  He  pressed  me  to  be  his  guest 
both  at  Vienna  and  in  Calcutta,  but  I  was 
unable  to  go.  It  has  always  been  a  matter 
of  regret  to  me  that  I  thus  lost  the  chance 
of  seeing  India  —  which  I  shall  now  never 
see  —  under  the  auspices  of  one  of  the  most 
magnificent  of  her  viceroys. 

At  the  close  of  a  letter  of  five  large 
sheets,  written  to  me  from  Mushobra  in 
1876,  he  says : — 

I  have  to  thank  God's  great  goodness  and  protec- 
tion for  more  help  and  encouragement  in  the  perform- 
ance of  my  new  and  difficult  tasks  than  I  either  deserve 
or  expected.  The  birth  of  our  little  boy  has  also  been 
a  great  joy  to  my  lady  and  myself.  Now,  good-by 
for  the  present. 

Ever,  dear  friend,  your  most  affectionate  friend, 

LYTTON. 

In  another  written  from  Naini  Tal  in  1877, 

he  says  :  — 

• 

DEAREST  FRIEND,  —  Your  charming  letter  would 
have  given  me  unalloyed  pleasure  could  it  have  con- 


EARL  LYTTON.  261 

tained  a  more  cheering  account  of  your  life  just  now, 
which  indeed  seems  to  be  as  busy  as  my  own,  without 
even  the  stimulus  of  that  never-ceasing  excitement  and 
sense  of  immense  responsibility  which  helps  me  through 
my  daily  trial  here.  On  the  whole,  I  think  that,  in 
despite  of  famine  and  a  depreciated  currency,  my  first 
year's  work  has  not  been  barren  of  practical  results, 
and,  thank  God,  my  health  stands  the  work  very  fairly. 
Could  you  not  manage  to  pass  a  holiday  with  me  in 
India  ?  My  love  to  my  little  godchild,  and  believe 
me,  dear  Farrar,  your  ever  affectionate, 

LYTTON. 

I  will  quote  but  one  more  passage  from 
these  letters.  He  says,  writing  from  Kneb- 
worth  in  1880:  — 

"  Morally  and  mentally  —  though  not  physically, 
thank  God  —  I  have  certainly  suffered  much  during 
the  last  four  years  and  a  half  in  India.  But  I  can- 
not help  feeling  that  I  have  also  done  much  which 
will  be  of  permanent  benefit  to  India,  though  my  work 
has  been  broken  off  prematurely  in  an  incomplete  con- 
dition. Possibly  the  true  character  of  it  may  become 
known  and  fairly  judged  when  its  author  and  critics 
have  become  pulvis  et  umbra,  a  hundred  years  hence. 
But  truth  is  both  a  slow  and  a  desultory  traveller,  and 
posthumous  justice  is  the  most  uncertain  thing  in  the 
world. 

"  Pray  give  my  love  to  Cyril.  I  hope  he  will  keep 
his  boisterous  spirits.  They  are  an  invaluable  posses- 


202  MEN  I  HAVK  KNOWN. 

sion  which  ought  to  be  entailed,  or  put  in  trust,  for 
those  spendthrifts,  the  life-owners  of  it.  Adieu! — no 
—  au  rczw'r,  my  dear  friend." 

The  Earl  of  Lytton  was  often  cruelly  mis- 
represented and  misunderstood.  I  should 
like  to  give  my  humble  testimony  that,  know- 
ing him  intimately  for  many  years,  having 
spent  long  hours  in  his  society,  having  re- 
ceived from  him  many  letters,  having  con- 
versed with  him  on  all  conceivable  topics, 
literary  and  religious,  and  having  heard  him 
in  public  as  well  as  in  private,  he  left  on  my 
mind  the  conviction  that  he  was  a  man  of 
brilliant  ability,  of  generous  instincts,  of 
kindliest  nature,  and  one  whose  sincere  de- 
sire it  was  to  do  his  duty  faithfully  and 
strenuously  in  the  world. 


X. 

REMINISCENCES 

OF 

LORD  MACAULAY,  CARLYLE,  THACKERAY,  CHARLES 
KINGSLEY,  TOM   HUGHES,  DR.  JOWETT,  ETC. 

PLINY,  speaking  of  the  events  of  his  life, 
mentions  among  them  the  fact  that  he  had 
once  seen  Virgil,  though  he  had  merely 
seen  him,  "  Virgilium"  he  says,  "  vidi  tan- 
tum"  I  cannot  say  much  more  than  this 
of  CHARLES  DICKENS.  I  met  him,  and  re- 
ceived a  letter  from  him,  but  I  cannot  say 
that  I  knew  him.  At  one  small  public 
dinner  at  which  I  met  him,  I  was  struck 
with  his  chivalry  to  an  absent  friend.  Mr. 
Sims  Reeves  had  been  announced  to  sinrr 

o 

at  the  dinner,  and,  as  happened  not  infre- 
quently, Mr.  Sims  Reeves  had  something 
the  matter  with  his  throat,  and  was  unable 
to  be  present.  Dickens  announced  this, 

263 


264  AfRN  7  HA  FE  A' NO  WN. 

and  the  announcement  was  received  with 
a  general  laugh  of  incredulity.  This  made 
Dickens,  who  was  in  the  chair,  very  angry, 
and  he  manfully  upheld  his  friend. 

"  My  friend,  Mr.  Sims  Reeves,"  he  said, 
"  regrets  his  inability  to  fulfil  his  engage- 
ment, owing,"  he  added  with  great  severity, 
"to  an  unfortunately  amusing  and  highly 
facetious  cold'' 

But  without  knowinor  Mr.  Dickens,  I  have 

*> 

talked  to  his  friend  and  biographer,  Mr.  John 
Forster ;  and  his  books,  more  than  in  the 
case  of  many  authors,  revealed  his  inmost 
heart.  His  first  important  book,  The  Pick- 
wick Papers,  was  published  in  1837,  tne 
year  in  which  Her  Gracious  Majesty  began 
her  reign.  Everything  which  he  then  wrote 
was  read  with  almost  feverish  eagerness  ;  per- 
haps his  works  are  now  read  comparatively 
little.  Each  generation  has  its  own  taste,  and 
tastes  differ  very  widely  in  different  epochs. 
Yet  much  that  he  wrote  seems  to  me  incom- 
parably more  earnest  and  more  wholesome 
than  much  which  is  now  read  and  praised. 
He  was,  in  his  own  way,  a  sincerely  re- 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  265 

ligious  man.  It  is  certainly  a  blot  on  the 
humor  of  Pickwick  that  its  pages  "  reek 
with  brandy  and  water ;  "  but  that  was  a 
vitium  temporis,  more  than  a  vitium  hom- 
inis,  and,  on  the  other  hand,  he  could  make 
the  legitimate  boast  that  he  had  never  writ- 
ten a  line  which  could  call  up  a  blush  upon 
the  purest  cheek.  It  is  immensely  to  the 
credit  of  the  heart  of  the  novelist,  and  will 
be  a  permanent  addition  to  his  fame,  not 
only  that  he  devoted  fiction  to  the  high 
end  of  exposing  manifold  social  abuses,  but 
even  that,  by  the  force  of  his  genius,  he 
contributed  a  material  element  to  their  cor- 
rection. If  cheap  private  schools  are  no 
longer  what  once  they  sometimes  were,  it 
is  due  in  part  to  Nicholas  Nicklcby.  Oliver 
Twist  helped  to  bring  about  the  improve- 
ment of  workhouses,  and  Little  Dorrit  of 
debtors'  jails,  and  Bleak  House  of  the  Court 
of  Chancery,  and  David  Copperficld  of  Doc- 
tors' Commons.  Fiction  could  have  had  no 
loftier  aim  than  such  an  amelioration  of 
social  conditions. 


26G  AfRN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

I  saw  THACKERAY  more  frequently,  have 
sat  next  to  him  at  dinner,  and  met  him 
in  company  with  common  friends.  In  ordi- 
nary society  he  probably  left  a  much  less 
genial  impression  than  he  did  on  the  minds 
of  his  intimate  associates.  I  was  once  stand- 
ing with  the  late  Sir  William  Smith  —  the 
editor  of  so  many  famous  dictionaries  —  at 
the  door  of  the  Athenaeum.  A  letter  had 
appeared  that  morn  ing  in  The  Times,  signed 
by  Charles  Dickens  and  Henry  Rogers.  "  I 
have  just  been  reading,"  he  said,  "  a  letter 
by  the  editor  of  our  leading  review  and  by 
the  first  novelist  in  the  world  ;  and  it  is  ex- 
pressed in  the  worst  English  ever  written  !  " 

Once  he  came  down  to  Harrow,  when  I 
was  a  master  there,  and  gave  us  his  lecture 
on  George  III.  Every  word  of  it  was  read, 
and  rather  closely  read,  from  his  manuscript, 
and  in  a  voice  somewhat  monotonous  ;  but 
I  shall  never  forget  the  impression  of  tragic 
gloom  left  on  my  mind  by  his  picture  of  the 
madness  of  George  III.;  and  the  lecture  ap- 
peared to  be  listened  to,  even  by  the  youngest 
Harrow  boys,  with  breathless  interest. 


WILLIAM    M    THACKERAY. 


CR  U IK  SHANK  —  TR  OLL  OPE.  267 

I  dined  with  him  afterwards  at  the  house 
of  Dr.  Butler,  and  I  remember  that  he  spoke 
of  many  things  ;  but  the  only  remark  which  I 
specially  recall  was  one  about  himself.  He 
said  that  he  had  recently  sat  at  dinner  next 
to  an  eminent  tragedienne,  now  dead,  and 
that  she  had  overpowered  him  with  ecstatic 
compliments  ;  a  few  days  afterwards  he  had 
sat  next  to  Jenny  Lind  —  and  the  great 
singer,  with  a  frankness  which  delighted 
him,  said  that  she  had  not  read  a  line  of  one 
of  his  writings,  and  knew  nothing  about 

«j  o 

them.  Of  the  two  ladies  he  greatly  pre- 
ferred Jenny  Lind,  and  enjoyed  her  frank 
indifference  much  more  than  the  fulsome 
adulation. 

Even  so  slight  an  acquaintance  with  a 
great  writer  seems  to  make  one  know  more 
of  the  character  of  his  genius.  I  once  sat 
next  to  GEORGE  CRUIKSIIAXK  at  dinner;  and 
once  vis-a-vis  to  ANTHONY  TROLLOPE  and 
GEORGE  Du  MAURIER — then  known  only  as 
a  caricaturist.  I  still  vividly  recall  the  stately 
courtesy  of  Cruikshank,  so  much  more  sol- 


2(58  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNOWN. 

emn  —  at  any  rate  on  that  and  another  oc- 
casion when  I  saw  and  heard  him  —  than 
one  would  have  expected  from  most  of  his 
pictures ;  and  the  almost  riotous  geniality 
with  which  Messrs.  Trollope  and  Du  Maurier 
enlivened  us  with  their  wit  and  brightness. 
Neither  of  them  showed  the  least  particle 
of  stiffness  towards  a  young,  little-known, 
clerical  stranger,  but  after  mutual  introduc- 
tions they  frankly  laid  themselves  out  for 
pleasant  conversation  and  social  enjoyment. 

I  conversed  with  LORD  MACAULAY  only 
once.  I  was  at  that  time  a  young  fellow 
of  Trinity  College,  and  was  staying  up  at 
the  college  during  one  of  the  vacations. 
Macaulay's  nephew  and  biographer,  Sir 
George  Trevelyan,  —  whose  recent  with- 
drawal from  Parliamentary  life  all  would  re- 
gret even  more  than  they  do  but  for  the 
hope  that  it  may  set  him  free  for  the  lite- 
rary work  of  which  he  has  furnished  such 
brilliant  specimens,  —  was  then  an  under- 
graduate at  Trinity.  His  uncle  came  up 
to  see  him,  and  stayed  at  the  Bull  Hotel. 


LORD  MACAULAY.  269 

Sir  Georore  —  whom  I   had  known  when  he 

c!5 

was  the  head  of  the  school  at  Harrow,  car- 
rying- everything-  before  him  by  his  ability 
-was  good  enough  to  give  me  an  invita- 
tion from  the  great  historian  to  dine  with 
him  at  the  hotel.  I  need  not  say  how 
proud  I  felt  of  the  honor.  The  warmth 
and  unaffected  geniality  with  which  Lord 
Macaulay  welcomed  us  put  us  at  once  at 
our  ease,  and  I  still  recall  the  unusually 
cordial  way  in  which  he  shook  his  guests 
by  the  hand.  The  party  was  a  small  one. 
I  do  not  remember  the  other  guests,  but 
besides  Mr.  Trevelyan,  as  he  then  was,  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Kenneth  Macaulay  were  present, 
and  sat  on  the  right  and  left  side  of  their 
cousin.  As  I  sat  next  to  Mr.  Macaulay,  I 
had  the  full  enjoyment  of  that  power  of 
conversation  for  which  the  historian  was 
so  famous.  Sidney  Smith  once  said  that 
the  punishments  of  the  Inferno  might  be 
greatly  improved  upon.  As  a  future  punish- 
ment to  some  suave  and  gentle  archbishop, 
for  instance,  -- 1  think  it  was  Archbishop 
Howley,  —  he  would  have  him  preached  to 


270  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNOWN. 

death  by  wild  curates ;  and  as  a  punishment 
to  Macaulay,  he  would  put  persons  all  round 
him  who  would  pour  into  his  ears  a  series  of 
false  facts  and  false  dates  which  he  should 
have  no  power  to  refute  or  to  correct.  The 
great  man  had  not  that  punishment  to  en- 
dure that  evening.  Mr.  Kenneth  Macaulay 
was  a  barrister,  an  eloquent  speaker,  and  a 
member  for  the  city  of  Cambridge. 

As  I  am  speaking  of  an  evening  more 
than  forty  years  ago,  I  cannot  recall  the  de- 
tails of  the  conversation,  except  that  it  was 
maintained  the  whole  evening  with  unflag- 
ging vivacity.  It  is  said  by  those  who  be- 
long to  an  older  generation  that  the  art  of 
conversation  has  wholly  declined,  and  has 
almost  disappeared.  I  can  well  believe  that 
it  is  so.  In  these  days  the  newspapers  bring 
to  our  breakfast-table,  in  endless  columns 
of  letterpress,  not  only  the  grave  news  of 
all  the  world,  but  even  the  most  trivial  in- 
cidents of  daily  life,  even  the  all-but-imper- 
ceptible ripples  upon  what  Mr.  Lowell  called 
"  the  stagnant  goose- ponds  of  village  gos- 
sip :  "  -  how,  for  instance,  Mr.  Brown's  son 


LORD  MAC 'A UL AY.  271 

has  swallowed  a  hickory-nut,  and  how  Mr. 
Smith's  pony-chaise  has  stuck  in  a  cart-rut ! 
As  a  rule,  everybody  knows  as  much  about 
these  things  as  anybody  else,  and  frequently 
conversation  soars  no  higher  ;  or,  even  if  it 
does,  our  opinions  are  ready-made  for  us 
by  our  favorite  newspapers,  and  we  only 
have  to  echo  them,  and  to  borrow  our  wise 
judgment  and  brilliant  reflections  from  the 
pages  of  our  magazines.  This  was  not  so 
much  the  case  before  the  days  of  telephones 
and  submarine  telegraphs,  and  300,000  miles 
of  iron  roads. 

I  do  not  think  that  any  great  man  has 
left  on  my  mind  so  vivid  an  impression  of 
his  gifts  in  conversation  as  Lord  Macaulay. 
His  memory  was  extraordinary.  If  you  sur- 
prised him  with  the  question,  he  would  repeat 
for  you  the  whole  list  of  the  archbishops 
of  Canterbury,  from  St.  Augustine  to  St. 
Edmund  of  Abingdon,  and  from  him  down 
to  Archbishops  Manners- Sutton,  Howley, 
and  Sumner.  He  could  not,  he  said,  repeat 
all  the  popes  of  Rome,  as  he  got  wrong 
among  the  numerous  Piuses  and  Gregories. 


272  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO IVN. 

But  he  gave  one  instance  of  his  powers  that 
evening.  Something  had  turned  the  con- 
versation upon  executions,  and  especially  the 
executions  of  women  ;  and,  without  an  effort, 
on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  he  seemed  to 
recall  the  case  of  every  woman  of  any  fame 
who  had  been  executed  in  the  long  course 
of  English  history. 

CARLYLE  also  I  knew,  though  it  was  but 
slightly.  When  I  was  at  Harrow  I  founded 
one  of  those  Scientific  and  Natural  History 
Societies  among  the  boys  which  were  then 
much  less  common  than  they  have  since 
become.  I  also  strongly  felt  that  to  see  and 
hear  great  men  was,  in  itself,  a  sort  of  lib- 
eral education  for  young  boys.  I  therefore 
invited  several  men  of  great  eminence  to 
come  and  give  us  lectures  at  Harrow ;  and 
among  those  who  came  were  such  men  of 
genius  as  Professor  Tyndall,  Professor  Hux- 
ley, Mr.  Ruskin,  and  Mr.  A.  Wallace.  I  was 
anxious  that  the  boys  should  see  and  hear 
Carlyle,  and  I  wrote  to  invite  him  to  deliver 
a  lecture,  although  I  did  not  know  him.  I 


Thomas  Carlyle. 


CARL  YLE.  273 

did  not  feel  myself  obtrusive  in  doing  so, 
because  almost  any  man,  however  eminent, 
enjoys  the  opportunity  of  talking  to  six  hun- 
dred boys.  Carlyle  was  interested  in  my  re- 
quest, for  he  afterwards  spoke  about  it  to 
Professor  Tyndall,  who  told  me  that  when 
he  informed  the  Sage  of  Chelsea  of  his  in- 
tended lecture  to  the  school,  Carlyle  an- 
swered in  his  deep  voice,  "  Mind  you  don't 
tell  them  anything  which  is  not  true  !  "  I 
append  a  facsimile  of  his  letter. 

Once,  when  I  was  at  Westminster,  Dean 
Stanley  told  me  that  he  was  going,  by 
appointment,  to  see  Carlyle,  and  asked  me 
to  accompany  him.  I  was  delighted  to  go. 
The  dean's  object  was  to  take  to  him  the 
birthday  book  of  the  late  lamented  Princess 
Alice  of  Hesse,  who  wished  Carlyle  to  in- 
scribe his  name  in  it.  I,  too,  had  something 

c> 

to  take  with  me.  Carlyle,  in  one  of  the  most 
amusing  chapters  of  his  Frederick  the  Great, 
has  described  the  intercourse  of  the  king 
with  Maupertius  and  Voltaire.  Maupertius 
was  a  mathematician  who  had  gone  on  an 
expedition  to  the  arctic  circle  to  measure 


274  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

an  arc  of  the  meridian,  and  had,  by  the  re- 
sult of  his  researches,  definitely  proved  that 
the  globe  is  an  oblate  spheroid,  flattened  at 
the  poles.  On  his  return  to  France  he  had 
had  an  engraving  of  himself  published,  in 
which  he  was  represented  in  his  arctic  furs 
and  fur  cap,  near  the  little  hut  amid  the 
eternal  snows  in  which  he  had  taken  his 
observations.  He  was  represented  with  his 
right  hand  resting  on  the  flatness  of  the 
north  pole,  and  with  his  left  triumphantly 
waving  in  the  air.  His  achievement  had 
been  a  considerable  one,  even  if  his  manner 
of  having  it  depicted  had  savored  a  little 
of  French  vanity. 

Frederick  the  Great  made  Maupertius  the 
president  of  the  new  academy  which  he 
founded  at  Berlin  ;  and  when  Voltaire  be- 
came a  denizen  of  his  court,  the  two  men, 
being  somewhat  antipathetic  in  temperament, 
were  a  little  inclined  to  be  jealous  of  each 
other.  Voltaire,  putting  into  play  his  in- 
imitable wit,  wrote  a  pamphlet  in  which  he 
overwhelmed  Maupertius  with  ridicule  under 
the  pseudonym  of  Dr.  Akakia  ;  and  in  refer- 


*><„ 


u 


-l 


cO 


CARL  YLE.  275 

ence  to  his  portrait,  dubbed  him  Le  grand 
Aplatisseur,  "  the  great  Earth- flattener,"  as 
though  he  had  not  merely  discovered,  but 
actually  caused,  the  squeezing  down  of  the 
polar  regions  out  of  their  proper  sphericity  ! 
Now,  it  so  happened  that  in  a  shop  of  old 
engravings  I  had  come  across  a  copy  of  this 
portrait  of  Le  grand  Aplatisseur.  I  at  once 
bought  it,  and  had  it  framed.  It  is  by  no 
means  common,  and  thinking  that  Carlyle 
would  value  it  more  than  I  did,  I  took  it 
with  me  to  make  him  a  present  of  it.  He 
did  not  possess  it,  but  only  a  much  inferior 
sketch  of  Maupertius,  and  he  accepted  it, 
not  only  graciously,  but  with  real  pleasure. 
I  had  proof  afterwards  that  he  really  valued 
it  ;  for  when  he  died  I  wrote  and  asked  his 
executors  whether,  as  it  was  but  of  small 
intrinsic  value,  they  would  return  it  to  me 
as  a  memorial  of  Carlyle,  if  none  of  his 
family  particularly  wished  for  it.  Of  course 
I  put  the  request  very  modestly,  but  they 
at  once  sent  me  back  the  picture,  and  I 
found  that  Carlyle  had  had  it.  taken  out  of 
the  common  wooden  frame  in  which  I  had 


27G  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

placed  it,  and  had  had  it  framed  in  a 
worthier  and  more  expensive  style. 

1  do  not  know  whether  he  was  in  an 
exceptionally  good-humor,  and  whether  my 
present  of  Maupertius  had  specially  made 
him  feel  gracious,  but  certainly  that  after- 
noon he  showed  none  of  the  splenetic  and 
dyspeptic  rudeness  of  which  he  was  so  often 
guilty,  and  which  made  him  blurt  out  so 
many  disparaging,  if  sometimes  shrewd, 
judgments  even  of  contemporaries  who  were 
very  far  superior  to  himself  in  the  moral 
heroism  he  so  energetically  preached,  but 
which,  in  his  life  of  continuous  and  too 
often  self-absorbed  wretchedness,  he  so  con- 
spicuously failed  to  exemplify.  For  nothing 
is  more  saddening  about  Mr.  Fronde's  nu- 
merous volumes  of  the  biography  of  Car- 
lyle,  than  the  fact  that  while  they  abound 
in  severe  and  scornful  epigrams  against  mul- 
titudes of  his  most  eminent  and  kindest  ac- 
quaintances, there  are  but  three  personages, 
if  so  many,  to  whom  he  alludes  with 
cordially  generous  approval. 

We  must  have  stayed  with  him  talking  for 


CARL  YLE.  277 

at  least  an  hour  or  more,  and  so  far  from 
showing  any  signs  of  being  tired  of  us,  he 
wanted  us  to  stay  longer.  He  did  not,  as 
it  was  pathetic  to  see,  sign  his  name  in  the 
princess's  book,  because  his  hand  shook  so 
pitiably.  He  told  the  dean  that  he  must 
leave  the  book  there,  and  he  would  sign  it  at 
his  leisure,  and  send  it  back. 

The  conversation,  suggested  by  this  inci- 
dent, turned  on  German  princesses,  and  we 
began  to  talk  of  Elizabeth  of  Hungary. 
Carlyle  at  first  expressed  himself  almost  con- 
temptuously about  her,  in  much  the  same 
style  as  his  published  estimate  of  Ignatius 
Loyola,  whom  he  somewhere  characterizes 
as  if  he  were  among  the  poorest  of  God's 
creatures.  The  dean  and  I  dwelt  on  the 
noble  and  tender  elements  in  her  character ; 
and,  to  my  surprise,  Carlyle,  after  a  little 
time,  quite  came  round  to  our  view,  and  ad- 
mitted how  much  there  was  about  her  his- 
tory and  legend  which  was  touching  and 
exemplary.  To  many  who  loved  and  hon- 
ored Carlyle  the  publication  of  his  biography 
was  a  sacl  and  grievous  disillusionment- 


278  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

an  act  of  almost  profane  iconoclasm.  I  re- 
member once  being  told  by  a  friend  that  he 
happened  to  visit  Carlyle  just  after  a  brilliant 
man  of  genius  had  left  him,  whom  my  friend 
had  met  on  his  way  to  Carlyle's  door. 

"  Ah,"  said  the  visitor,  "  I  have  just  been 
visiting  poor  Carlyle.  He  is  a  mere  wreck ! 
a  mere  wreck  !  " 

"  So  you  have  just  had  Mr. with 

you,"  said  my  friend  to  Carlyle. 

"  Yes,"  was  the  answer  of  the  "  mere 
wreck  ;"  "  and  he  thinks  God  Almighty  never 
made  such  another !  " 

I  first  met  CHARLES  KINGSLEY  at  the  house 
of  Archbishop  Benson,  who  had  then  been 
recently  appointed  head-master  of  Welling- 
ton College.  Wellington  College  is  very 
near  Kingsley's  Rectory  of  Eversley,  and 
Kingsley's  eldest  son  was  then  a  Welling- 
ton boy.  For  this  reason,  and  from  his 
natural  deep  interest  in  the  rising  genera- 
tion as  "  the  trustees  of  posterity,"  Kingsley 
took  the  deepest  interest  in  the  her  own  filii 
-the  boys  at  the  college,  which  was  then 


CHARLES   KINGSLEY. 


CHARLES  KINGSLEY.  279 

beginning  its  career.  He  used  to  ride  over 
to  the  college  on  his  strong,  serviceable  horse, 
to  accompany  the  boys  in  their  paper-chases, 
and  to  encourage  them  in  all  manly  sports. 
On  this  occasion  he  preached  to  the  boys  in 
the  new  and  then  undecorated  school  chapel. 
His  sermon  was  extempore,  and  I  can  remem- 
ber how,  as  we  came  out  of  the  chapel,  his 
boy  took  him  by  the  arm  and  said,  — 
"  O  father,  what  a  jolly  sermon  !  " 
It  was  only  "jolly"  in  schoolboy  parlance 
as  being  interesting  and  arresting  their  at- 
tention, as  otherwise  it  was  a  little  sad  in 
tone.  I  still  remember  it.  He  was  instruct- 
ing the  lads  in  their  duties  to  one  another, — 
how  they  ought  to  respect  one  another,  and 
to  practise  mutual  forbearance.  One  of  his 
illustrations  was  that  they  should  not  be  to 
one  another  like  a  lot  of  hounds  in  a  kennel, 
snarling  and  yelping  and  biting  one  another, 
and  each  determined  to  secure  for  itself  the 
biggest  bone.  In  the  form  of  the  sermon 
there  was  nothing  literary ;  it  was  a  homely, 
practical  address  to  boys  by  one  who  under- 
stood and  sympathized  with  them. 


280  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

He  was  at  that  time,  as  he  often  was, 
extremely  depressed.  His  admirable  biog- 
raphy leaves  on  us  the  true  impression 
that,  while  he  had  occasional  fits  of  exu- 
berant gayety,  the  prevalent  tone  of  his 
mind  was  sad.  He  .felt  bitterly  that  iso- 
lation in  the  church  which  he  shared  with 
his  friend  and  teacher,  F.  D.  Maurice.  He 
shrank  from  those  savage  attacks  which 
fell  to  his  lot,  as  to  the  lot  of  all  true 
men,  and  complained  at  one  time  that  "the 
papers  were  all  cursing  him  like  a  dog " 
because,  with  Carlyle  and  Ruskin,  he  thought 
that  there  was  something  to  be  said  for 
Governor  Eyre.  At  the  time  of  which  I 
speak  he  had  recently  finished  his  most 
brilliant  novel,  Hypatia,  and  was  feeling 
the  subsequent  reaction.  He  said  that  the 
doctors  told  him  he  had  exhausted  the 
phosphorus-  in  his  brain,  and  advised  him 
to  give  ample  time  to  sleep,  and  to  eat 
plenty  of  fish.  His  latter  years,  when  he 
was  canon,  first  of  Chester,  then  for  a  short 
time  of  Westminster,  were  among  the  hap- 
piest years  of  his  life.  He  neither  ex- 


THOMAS    HUGHES. 


\ 


JUDGE  HUGHES.  281 

pected    nor  desired    any   further   promotion. 
At  both  he  did  admirable  work. 

He  always  loved  to  see  young  men  about 
him,  and  to  train  them  in  strength  and 
manliness.  At  Chester  he  formed  a  larije 

o 

Natural  History  Society,  and  his  walks  and 
talks  with  the  members  were  found  to  be 
full  of  intellectual  stimulus.  At  Westmin- 
ster he  preached  again  many  of  the  sermons 
which  he  had  preached  at  Chester,  and 
they  produced  a  profound  effect.  It  was 
curious  to  see  him  stand  in  the  pulpit  and 
gaze  round  him  on  the  vast  congregations 
with  something  of  anxious  curiosity.  He 
felt  the  responsibility  of  those  occasions, 
but  he  managed  to  create  a  sort  of  electric 
sympathy  between  his  hearers  and  himself 
—  a  sympathy  caused  by  the  depth  of  his 
sincerity  and  earnestness. 

I  knew  JUDGE  HUGHES  intimately  for  many 
years.  My  acquaintance  with  him  began  in 
a  letter  in  which  I  had  taken  the  liberty 
to  write  and  point  out  a  small  mistake  in 
natural  history  which  he  had  made  in  Tom 


282  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

Brown's  School  Days.  In  his  long  and 
interesting  reply  he  acknowledged  the  mis- 
take, which  was,  I  believe,  corrected  in  later 
editions.  I  met  him  often,  and  he  was 
once  my  guest  for  a  fortnight  at  the  .Lodge, 
Maryborough  College.  He  had  come  down 
to  give  a  lecture  to  the  boys  on  his  Ameri- 
can travels.  The  lecture  was  simple  and 
homely  enough,  but  it  was  full  of  fresh 
manly  experience ;  and  this,  together  with 
the  fact  that  he  had  written  Tom  Brown 's 
ScJiooJ  Days,  interested  the  Marlburians  im- 
mensely. During  that  fortnight  I  had  many 
a  long  and  interesting  walk  and  talk  with 
him  in  the  beautiful  forest  of  Savernake, 
and  over  the  Downs,  and  at  Martinsell. 
Our  conversation  usually  turned  either  upon 
questions  of  religion,  which  were  always  to 
him  full  of  undying  interest,  or  on  the 
various  social  problems  of  the  day.  I  had 
one  more  long  walk  with  him  at  New  Quay 
in  Cornwall,  over  the  lovely  promontories, 
only  a  year  before  his  death.  Even  at  that 
late  period  of  his  life  he  seemed  to  have 
lost  none  of  his  old  vigor  and  freshness. 


DR.  JOWETT.  283 

I  once  asked  him  to  decide  which  of  three 
boys  should  have  the  Essay  Prize.  I  give 
a  facsimile  of  his  characteristic  answer. 

DR.  JOWETT  of  Balliol  was  always  among 
my  kindest  friends.  He  was  my  guest  at 
Marlborough,  and  I  saw  him  yearly  at  West- 
minster, and  stayed  with  him  five  or  six 
times  when  I  was  Bampton  Lecturer  at  Ox- 
ford, and  on  other  Sundays  when  I  had 
to  preach  at  Oxford,  or  when  he  invited 
Mrs.  Farrar  and  me  to  stay  with  him.  He 
came  down  to  preach  to  my  boys  at  Marl- 
borough  ;  for  it  was  always  my  wish  to  give 
them  the  opportunity  of  hearing  in  the 
college  chapel  some  of  the  most  eminent 
men  and  preachers  of  the  day. 

The  Sundays  at  Oxford  were  delightful. 
He  generally  had  some  distinguished  guest, 
like  Robert  Browning  or  Matthew  Arnold  ; 
and  at  his  dinner-table  on  Sunday  one  met 
men  like  Mr.  Freeman,  the  historian,  or 
Canon  Liddon,  or  the  Rev.  E.  Hatch,  or 
some  of  the  best-known  Oxford  residents. 
Meeting  him  thus  often,  I  never  saw  any 


284  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

trace  of  the  silence,  or  reticence,  or  reluc- 
tance to  talk,  which  is  often  alluded  to  in 
his  biography.  I  found  him.  during  many 
a  stroll  about  Oxford,  freely  ready  to  dis- 
cuss any  topic  of  interest,  and  to  speak 
his  mind  upon  it ;  and  there  was  a  great 
charm  about  his  gentleness  and  courtesy. 

I  always  regarded  him  as  a  sincerely  and 
even  deeply  religious  man,  and  that  con- 
ception of  him  is  amply  justified  by  the  de- 
tails of  his  published  life,  and  especially  by 
many  passages  in  his  beautiful  letters.  Mr. 
Leslie  Stephen,  in  a  recent  paper,  seems  to 
condemn  him,  and  to  regard  his  example 
as  harmful,  because  he  thinks  that  he  con- 
tinued to  be  a  nominal  member  of  the 
Church  of  England  long  after  he  had  ceased 
to  be  a  real  one.  I  think  that  this  view  is 
mistaken.  Dr.  Jowett  remained  a  professed 
advocate  of  the  catholic  faith  and  of  the 
Church  of  England  because  it  represented 
to  him  the  best  he  knew  and  the  highest  to 
which  he  could  attain. 

But  his  was  essentially  the  philosophic 
mind.  He  did  not  believe  that  it  is  in  hu- 


B.   JOWETT. 


DR.  JO  WETT.  285 

man  power  to  see  truth  in  definite,  clear-cut 
outlines,  or  to  formulate  it  with  Aristotelian 
precision.  Like  Kant,  he  was  overpowered 
with  the  grandeur  of  the  starry  heavens 
above  and  of  the  moral  law  within  ;  but  he 
shrank  from  all  attempt  at  expressing,  still 
more  at  exhausting,  the  kind  of  truth  which 
is  of  its  essence  incomprehensible,  in  the 
formal  pigeon-holes  of  metaphysical  dialec- 
tics. I  once  heard  him  preach  a  most  inter- 
esting sermon  on  Miracles  —  most  interesting, 
though  I  could  by  no  means  agree  with  it 
all.  He  argued  on  the  impossibility  of  see- 
ing God  as  it  were  through  the  chinks  of 
the  abnormal  and  the  exceptional  ;  and  he 
showed  how  very  little  we  understand  of 
the  strange,  perplexing,  and  often  over- 
whelmingly saddening  circumstances  of  na- 
ture and  of  life,  instancing  the  heart-broken 
anguish  of  a  mother  at  the  death  of  some 
fair  child,  — 

Soft  silken  primrose,  fading  timelessly. 

"  Exactly  like  Jowett,"  said   an   indignant 
and  well-known  Oxford  tutor  to  me,  as  we 


286  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

walked  out  of  St.  Mary's  —  "just  nibbling 
at  an  argument  ;  just  hinting  a  fault,  and 
hesitating  dislike."  The  criticism  was  at 
once  just  and  unjust ;  it  was  just,  as  indi- 
cating the  form  of  the  sermon,  and  its  pos- 
sible tendency  to  suggest  doubt  which  it 
did  not  solve  ;  but  unjust  in  that  it  did  not 
recognize  the  different  ways  of  envisaging 
truth  which  are  inseparable  from  the  differ- 
ences of  human  temperament. 

"  All  that  he  knows,  I  see"  said  a  mystic 
of  a  philosopher. 

"All  that  he  sees  I  know"  said  the  phi- 
losopher of  the  mystic. 

Hence  Dr.  Jowett  cared  little  for  the  mi- 
nutiae of  theological  dogmatism  or  the  verbal 
subtleties  of  scholastic  shibboleths.  He 
thought,  I  imagine,  that  they  were  apt  to 
deceive  men's  minds  with  the  arrogant  sem- 
blance of  knowledge  without  the  reality; 
and  he  accepted  them  as  being,  at  the  best, 
but  asymptotes  to  truth.  But  for  this  very 
reason  he  would  not  repudiate  them.  He 
could  offer  nothing  definite  as  a  substitute 
for  them  ;  and  held  that  they  had  a  certain 


o 


***->-  •*»*  *-*  - 


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•*  t-^tt<IX-»  **»•  t>-f,        «*-«-«, 

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jL<<~-  " 


4>^." 


DR.   THOMPSON.  287 

value,  if  they  were  not  overestimated,  as 
though  they  expressed  exhaustive  or  final 
verities.  He  would,  I  think,  have  had  much 
sympathy  with  the  remark  of  Angelique  Ar- 
nauld,  "  I  am  of  the  church  of  all  the  saints  ; 
and  all  the  saints  are  of  my  church;"  and 
he  would  have  said  with  Abraham  Lincoln, 
"  When  I  find  a  church  which  writes  promi- 
nently over  its  portals,  '  Love  God  with  all 
thy  heart,  and  thy  neighbor  as  thyself,'  to 
that  church  will  I  belong." 

This  was  perhaps  the  reason  why  his  ser- 
mons were,  as  a  rule,  moral,  simple,  practi- 
cal ;  and,'  in  later  years,  when  he  preached 
annually  at  Westminster  Abbey,  he  usually 
chose  a  biographical  subject. 

The  last  name  on  my  list  is  that  of  DR. 
THOMPSON,  the  famous  master  of  Trinity 
College,  Cambridge.  He  was  a  good  and 
ripe  scholar,  and  was  the  best  Platonist  at 
Cambridge,  as  Jowett  was  at  Oxford.  He 
wrote  but  little,  and  not  much  that  will  be 
permanent  ;  yet  I  cannot  but  think  that 
grievous  injustice  is  done  to  his  memory 


288  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

when  he  is  regarded  chiefly  as  the  sayer  of 
those  sharp,  witty,  and  often  bitter  epigrams 
which,  as  applied  to  their  betters,  small  and 
malignant  natures  often  find  an  eager  pleas- 
ure in  quoting.  It  is  no  less  a  man  than 
Pascal  who  said,  "  Discur  dc  bons  mots, 
mauvais  caractere ; "  and  the  man  is  not  to 
be  envied  who  can  have  the  courage  to 

o 

say  with  Ouintilian  "Potius  amicum  qnam 
dictum  pcrdidi"  These  often-quoted  epi- 
Sframs — the  delight  of  the  small  minds,  to 

o  o 

which  nothing  is  more  agreeable  than  the 
power  to  repeat  some  clever  depreciation 
of  men  who,  to  them  at  any  rate,  are  "  as 
captain  is  to  subaltern  "  -  had  not  even  the 
merit  of  representing  Dr.  Thompson's  real 
estimates.  They  were,  in  fact,  mere  splenetic 
outbursts  born  of  momentary  ill-temper  and 
dyspepsia,  like  some  of  the  brutalities  of 
Carlyle.  Some  of  Dr.  Thompson's  sayings 
were  witty,  as  when  he  said  of  Ely,  where 
as  professor  of  Greek  he  held  a  canonry, 
"  The  place  is  so  damp  tJiat  even  my  ser- 
mons wont  keep  dry  there  ;"  and  sometimes 
full  of  shrewdness,  as  when  he  said  at  a 


DR.   THOMPSON.  289 

college  meeting  where  some  of  the  young 
fellows  were  treating  with  very  little  respect 
the  opinions  of  their  seniors,  "  None  of  us 
is  quite  infallible,  not  even  the  youngest" 
But  others,  of  which  many  float  about 
Cambridge  society,  were  mere  petulancies 
of  which  he  was  himself  ashamed  ;  as  when 
he  said  of  an  amiable  and  excellent  scholar. 
1  The  time  that  he  spends  on  the  neglect 
of  his  duties  he  wastes  on  the  adornment 
of  his  person  ;  "  and  of  an  eminent  professor, 
whose  first  lecture  he  attended,  "  I  little 
thought  that  we  should  so  soon  have  cause 

to  regret  his  predecessor,   Professor ;  " 

a  double-edged  condemnation  against  two 
men,  both  of  whom  were  in  reality  much 
more  eminent  than  the  author  of  the  sar- 
casm. Dr.  Thompson,  to  my  knowledge, 
used  such  remarks  of  men  respecting  whom 
they  were  enthusiastically  repeated  by  all  the 
vulgar  and  malicious,  but  whom  the  master 
himself  in  reality  honored  and  esteemed. 

Dr.  Thompson  was  a  singular  and  inter- 
esting man.  I  knew  him  well  because  I 
was  many  times  his  guest  at  Trinity  Lodge. 


200  MEN  I  HAVE  KNOWN. 

He  had  a  sort  of  Olympian  manner,  which 
did  injustice  to  the  real  kindness  of  his 
heart.  Once  when  a  wit  designated  the 
various  heads  of  colleges  and  professors 
by  the  names  of  various  Greek  deities, 
Thompson  appeared  as  Adonis  —  "A  don 
is." 

But  his  manner  did  not  express  his  real 
character.  He  had  lived  the  life  of  a  Cam- 
bridge don,  and  he  told  me  that  there  was 
a  period  of  his  life  in  which  he  had  been 
liable  to  fits  of  melancholy  so  overwhelming 
that  he  could  only  lie  on  the  floor  and 
groan  ;  but  that  this  depression  was  always 
dispelled  by  hard  work.  Although  Dr. 
Thompson,  in  one  of  his  epigrams,  was 
severe  on  me,  he  always  expressed  himself 
most  kindly,  and  treated  me  as  an  honored 
guest. 

I  only  saw  him  taken  aback  once.  I  had 
entered  the  drawing-room  of  the  Lodge  just 
before  the  university  sermon,  which  I  had 
to  preach,  and  which  he  had  to  attend  as 
vice-chancellor  His  back  was  turned  to 
me,  and  he  thought  that  it  was  Mrs.  Thomp- 


DR.   THOMPSON.  291 

son   who   had   entered   the   room.     "/  shall 
sleep    frightfully"    he     said  ;     and     turning 
round,   saw  me  with  a  broad   smile  on   my 
face,  very  much   amused  by  his  remark,  — 
not  in  the  least  hurt  by  it. 

He  proceeded  rather  elaborately  to  ex- 
plain that  he  was  not  feeling-  very  well ;  that 
the  afternoon  was  a  rather  sleepy  time ;  that 
he  had  not  slept  well  the  night  before ; 
and  that  the  remark  was  not  meant  in  the 
smallest  degree  as  an  unfavorable  reflection 
on  my  sermons,  etc.,  of  which,  indeed,  both 
by  word  of  mouth  and  in  letters  he  spoke 
very  kindly. 

I   assured   him,   with    a    lau^h,    that  even 

o 

had  he  meant  to  speak  slightingly  I  should 
not  have  been  in  the  smallest  degree  of- 
fended, being  far  too  well  aware  how  many 
people  think  that  sermons  are,  as  Jowett 
expressed  it,  "  a  great  trial  to  intellectual 
men,"  being,  moreover,  free  from  all  illusion 
about  the  difficulties  of  sermons  at  the 
best,  and,  in  particular,  as  to  my  own  end- 
less deficiencies.  But  I  think  that  the  mas- 
ter could  not  quite  get  over  the  feeling 


292  MEN  I  HA  VE  KNO  WN. 

that,  as  schoolboys  express  it,  he  had  "  put 
his  foot  in  it."  To  most  sermons,  however, 
he  was  as  little  partial  as  to  his  own.  He 
was  once  expressing  to  me  his  astonish- 
ment at  the  unbroken  flood  of  speech  poured 
forth  without  a  written  note  by  a  famous 
preacher  who  had  been  recently  occupying 
the  university  pulpit.  "  Were  you  struck 
by  his  sermon  ?  "  I  asked.  "  Mir  or  magis" 
he  replied,  with  a  sort  of  Olympian  uplift- 
ing of  his  eyebrows.  He  made  my  acquaint- 
ance when  I  was  a  young  undergraduate, 
by  asking  me  to  one  of  his  "  wines,"  though 
I  was  not  "  on  his  side  ; "  i.e.,  not  under  his 
tutorship.  This  was  very  unusual ;  and  why 
he  invited  me  I  do  not  know,  for  I  was 
a  stranger  to  him.  Some  one  asked  him 
whether  it  was  because  I  was  one  of  "  the 
Apostles"  (as  he  himself  had  been).  "  No," 
he  said,  "it  was  a  lucky  hit  —  that  is  all." 
From  that  time  till  his  death  I  never  re- 
ceived at  his  hand  anything  but  kindness 
and  consideration. 


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